LIFE
AND
/■-•' Si
: > ■
JEAN
LEON
GEROME
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in 2013
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GEROME
-I KA.V LEON GEROME
389
EROME
THE LIFE AXD WORKS OF /AM IBOA GERdME BY FANNY FIELD ///-.RING.
/■ROM AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL NOTES AND LETTERS BY THE ARTIST HIMSELF,
WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY AUGUSTUS ST. GAUDENS. INCLUDING A
PORTRAIT OF GBROME, NINETEEN FULL-PAGE PHOTOGRAVURES, AND
TWENTY-FIVE FULL-PAGE PHOTO-PROCESS REPRODUCTIONS OF HIS
PAINTINGS AND SCULPTURE, TOGETHER WITH FIFTY PENCIL-DRAWINGS,
M ui/ ESPECIALLY FOR THIS HOOK BY GERdME, AND EXECUTED BY BOUS-
SOD, VALADOA fir CO., SUCCESSORS TO GOL'PIL.
/fc~i.y r
PUBLISHED BY CASSELL PUBLISHING COMPANY ® ® ® ®
ONE HUNDRED AND FOUR AND ONE HUNDRED AND SIX
FOURTH AVENUE NEW YORK ®®®®®®@®
■
i I PUBLISHING I OMPAN\
Alt right* reserved.
INTRODUCTION.
THE pleasure of associating my name with that of Ger6me led me to
accept impulsively the Clattering proposal that I should contribute to
this work some expression of my feeling toward him. Now that I
think seriously of what I have undertaken, the first thing that occurs to me is
that the author should he thanked lor her earnestness and spirit in making
the production of this work possible and in inducing Ger6me to give us now
his own history of a life so tilled with artistic interest.
There is in his art. apart from its elevation and virility of style, that which
ranks him in my mind with the Greek artists. So much so. thai I feel he would
have taken his place in the everyday life oi Allans; I involuntarily imagine him
in all the joyous contrasts of the blue skies and superb architecture, sharing the
brilliancy and nervousness of Athenian lite when the Parthenon was built It
seems to me that this feeling represents the unexpressed thought ot many ot his
admirers.
Since an early winter of our Civil War. when, as a hoy. I stopped evening
aftei evening at Goupil's window on Broadway and adored G6r6me's Death of
Ccesar, my admiration for him has never wavered, ami to be called iiixin. aftei
nearly thirty years, to give expression to my feeling under these conditions, and
to add one more wreath to his laurels, is an enviable Opport unity.
AUGUSTUS ST. GAUDENS.
REFACE.
1AM asked to write .1 preface for a book which treats only of me and my
works, and to present it to the public. I feel peculiarly embarrassed, the
more so thai I am ignorant oi the art oi writing; but as 1 wish, above all
things, to please the author, I yield. However, I question whether a preface
is really necessary ; ordinaril} one does not read it. and I think a good work
can very well dispense with it. Thus, then, deai reader, it you will take my
advice, turn these first pages and go directly to the book.
This volume is written 111 English, and I am unacquainted with this lan-
guage, —consequently I can express no opinion about it, hut I have my tears that
tlie friendship which unites me to the writer has placed .1 bandage ovei hi 1
and that the estimate herein found is too 1 ulogistic and tar above my poor merits
I wish only to give my general impressions about contemporaneous art, alter
having east a glance at preceding epochs. Everything is connected and hound
togt ther 111 the arts as elsewhere, and one is always the son oi somebody.
The Vanloos, Simon Vouet, Jouvenet, etc., had passed away; David had
come. He created a new school, that is to say, another manner oi seeing and
feeling. This painter of greal talent and of great will had considerable influence
upon the artists ol his time. hie wished In lead back art to the antique, lone;
Since abandoned, hut. unhappily, he drew his inspiration from the works ol the
Greek decadence instead of going back to Phidias and Ins predecessors. The
Apollo Belvedere, and Diana, tin- Huntress, necessarily led him to the Rape of the
Sabines, and Leonidas 0/ Thermopylae, works which are cold, without character,
without movement, and without life. On the contrary, when he gave expression
to his individuality, he painted portraits ot the first order, and a picture, The
Coronation of Napoleon, which is a work ol great beauty, aid does honor to the
1 'renc b School.
Alter him, M. Ingres, altera profound observation ot antiquity, revived more
healthy and exalted ideas. He was the undisputed chiet ol that (.'lassie School
which, during lone; years, contended with the Romantic School, whose most
illustrious representative was Eugene Delacroix. This struggle took plaa not
Only in the plastic arts, but also in literature, Victor Hugo being there the high-
priest. By the side ol these two opposing forces another power made its way;
this band ol artists and men ol letters received the title ol the School ol (.ood
Sense. Paul Delaroche and Casimir Delavigne belonged to this party. The
contest was hoi and the harshesl criticisms were nol stinted on either side:
each violentlj attacking the other, which in turn did not spare the opposing
party. A blow for a blow, an eye for an eye, was the device oi the com-
batants. This epoch was disturbed, bu1 gave evidence «>! an extraordinary
vitality, and extremely powerful works in every genre were the result of
these epic conflicts, In these times, one believed; one possessed the sacred
in*- Art was a religion and artists had faith ; faith, thai enormous power
thai can nunc- mountains,
This pleiad ol men ol meril shed a dazzling light, and this epoch need envv
no other, for science, literature, music, all the arts had as representatn es men oi
eminenl talent, who shone with incomparable brilliancy
li would perhaps be useful to re\ iew the long list of these different celebrities,
and the catalogue would be very curious and interesting. The nineteenth cen-
tury is and will remain one ol the greal epochs ol the world . it has made a giant
sinde in advance, and lor a period oi hiiv years the achievements easj to he
enumerated have been Stupendous; lor il is in our day. to eite only the principal
discoveries, thai photography, chloroform, electricity, the telephone, etc., have
been utilized and that we have employed steam to annihilate distance. Steam is
the connecting link between nations. We behold only the debul of these things;
hut the way is open, it is fertile, and we ask ourselves where human genius will
pause and what our sons will see. This little digression concluded, let us return
to the plastic arts.
Toward the year 1848, the French School, taken as a whole, had nol that
powei of expression which il has since acquired ; in the main it was rather weak.
and this no doubt was owing to the primary studies having been neglected; it is
austere and profound studies that make greal painters and greal sculptors ;
one lives all one's life oil this foundation, and il it is lacking one will only
he mediocre. Just as a good breeder feeds his colts with oats in order to
make of them strong, Sturdy horses 111 the future, so young artists should be
nourished with the marrow of lions, and led to the purest springs to quench
their thirst.
From this somber mass, composed ol artists who possessed only a secondary
merit, several brilliant personalities stood out in relief, luminous meteors, who
Caused the other artists who revolved in their orbil to appear still more dull.
Since then the fecole has perceptibly improved, has strengthened in its manner ol
seeing, feeling, and reproducing . i1 tonus a more powerful, more homogeneous
whole, a more imposing ensemble. Unfortunately, the number ol painters, and
consequently of worthless ones, has increased beyond all measure; it is because
painting is nowamatterol commerce; formerly the profession did not securea
PRt vii
man bis bare living to-day il lias becom< .1 paying thing; ii is only the sculptors,
nowadays, who die of hunger. Bui this is owing to complex causes and ii is to
be feared that these reasons will always exist.
For some years the sentimenl which governs arl productions has been com-
pletel} changing, and the works of men who m then time bad many admirers,
are for the moment, entirel} unfashionable and despised. I think thai this is
\> i\ unjusl to these artists, formerly great, and thai they are uol treated with the
respect <hu- to them, but it lias been thus since naturalism was invented.
Now. there ma] be 1 in naturalism (and I am oi those who observe with
interest all these diverse manifestations, because, <m the whole, movement is life);
nevertheless, I avow, it seems to me we area little too near the earth ; and, foi
example, one can sec in an exhibition oi two thousand pictures many can
well painted and ol a truthful and striking appearance, but in tins total yov ma}
deem yoursell fortunate il you run across two or three works which appeal to
heart and your soul. They have abandoned themselves to realism, to common-
and indiscriminating realism ; the letter has killed the spirit, and poetry has
tied to the liea\ ens.
Formerly, French artists had undisputed precedence over foreigners, when
ecuted pit tures where research from the plastic side, and the portrayal ol
ideas, simply comprehended and clearly, powerfully expressed, constituted the
basis ol the work ; now they are devoted to the picturesque, which is more
convenient and easy. The last Exposition demonstrated thai in other countries
beside our own there are excellenl artists m this style.
From the picturesque we have advanced to the strange, from the strain
the bizarre, from the bizarre to the fantastic ; one would say that a ^ust of mad-
ness was sweeping over our heads ; where are we going to stop '
But these mannerisms will not long be able to usurp a place in the Kcolc.
ami I am not unduly anxious ; tor that which distinguishes us. the foundation "I
the French character, is perspicacity and good sense
LIST OF PHOTOGRAVURES.
Jean Leon Gerome, 1889, . . . . . . . . . . . htle
The Christian Martyrs; or, Thi Lasi Prayer, i860 ro 1883, ... 8
G Mia, •• 1 1 is Finished," 1868, .......... 24
CEdipus; Bonaparte Before mm Sphinx, 1886, ....... 36
The Gladiators (Sculpturi Bronze), 1878, . . . . . . j8
I in Muezzin (Ai Night), 1882, .......... 56
I'm l'\ rrhk I ) \s< i , 1883, ........... ~2
ENS Quem Devori I. [889, 88
Grand Bath \i Hum «\. 1885, .......... 104
Springtimi (Arabia), 1890. . . . . . . . . . . . 116
Tin Carpei Merchant, 1887, ........... 128
I in I 11 'i vi 1 "i 1 in Ser \'.i 10, 1886, ......... 136
The Rose, 1889, ............. 1 5 ^
I hi End "i 1111 Seance, 1887, .......... 168
Love, mm Co queri ir, 1889, . . . . . . . . . . . 1S4
The Marabout, 1889, ............ 200
Bathsheba, 1889, 21 2
GaTI hi I! \r.-i 1 -/hi 1 1 , l886, . . . . . . . . . . j
I in P01 r's Dream, 1886, ............ 240
Tanagra, 1890, ............. 264
LIST OF PHOTO-ETCHINGS.
PACINI) PAOI
The I )i i i m 1 1 1; i in Ball, 4
Ave GiBsar, . . . . . . . . . . . . . 16
I'ma m li :e the Areopagus, . . . . . . . . . . 28
I in rwo A M.l rs, ............. 40
1 in Ai \i 11 , .............. 52
I in Pris iner on the Nile, . . . . . . . 68
( ATRA \N|. Cl-\k. ............ 80
The Death of C/ESai . . . . . . ... . . . 92
I 111 Si w 1 M \kki 1, ............ 10S
Tin Grand Winn Eunuch, .......... 120
For Sali [32
i. t. mini n. i gris1 . ............ i44
Ri k Tibii in 156
,\ CoLl VBORATION, , . . . . I 7-
POLLK I Vl RSO, I So
The Return from mi Chase, 192
'I'm Arab \\ s Steed, . -04
A\ \< reon (Si 1 1 11 1 re) -i"
["he Circus Maximus, . . . -- N
Louis XIV. an Gri m Conde -3''
Negro Keeper of Hounds, . . . -44
I 11 1 Harem in mm Kii isk, .......••■• -5-
I111 Si hi 1 ' i i . . . . . • •
I'm I 1 111 I in 1 \, 26 ' s
liu Two Kings 2 7 l>
I N, \Kl I Ih IV Ski 11 HES hk\«\ r\ 1.1 t
him TOR nil- WORK, INTERSPERSED im-' HOUI nil n NT.
LIFK AND WORKS
JEAN LEON GEROME
Whoever would fully understand the work <>i Ger6me, unequaled, since the
days of Leonardo da Vinci, in its marvelous comprehensiveness, must know him
not only as painter, sculptor, poet, savant, and teacher bul as a nnui. When
thai Icing of critics, Theophile Gautier, announced the debut oi the youth ol
twenty-three in the memorable words, "Lei us mark with white this happy
year, for a painter is horn to us' lie is called Girdme. To-day I tell von his
name, and 1 predict that to-morrow he will be celebrated!" even he, with his
acute perception and prophetic eye, could not have foreseen and measured the
heights to be attained by the boyish "chief of the neo-grecs," 'or that, fort} years
later, almost overburdened with decorations, titles, and laurels, lavished upon
him by all civilized nations, he would he acclaimed the most eminent represent-
ative ol high art of this nineteenth century.
Nor does G6r6me's experience confirm the ancienl adage, too often true, that
"a prophet is not without honor save in his own country." For he has received
from the French nation the highest tributes at her command, by the hands oi
king, emperor, and president of the Republic, successivel} interpreting the will
ol an appreciative .\m\ grateful people. Men illustrious in poet ry. science, and
belles-lettres proudly claim him as comrade and confrere, he counts only friendly
rivals among his brother artists, and the most captious of professional critics are
hushed to an admiring silence before the symmetrical beauty and power oi his
achievements, while for thirty years an ever-increasing throng oi ardent stu-
dents, from all climes and countries, notably our own. have pressed around
him, eagei to follow in the path which he has trod and in which be still leads
them, steadily striving after mon perfect realization and expression of truth and
beauty.
A thorough study of the life and works oi this artist, who justly hears the
title of Master, in its fullest sense, [eaves one penetrated with wonder, admiration,
and Loving reverence. At an age when another would think of little save well-
//// l\/> WORKS Ol // M I i,<\ G&R6MI
earned repose and tranquil enjoyment oi a world-wide fame, behold this veteran
oi sixty-seven, with surpassing vigor and delicacy of conception and execution,
still giving to the world masterpieces, in both painting and sculpture, any one oi
which would confer immortality on its creator. The mosl esteemed authorities
who can legitimately claim to form and direcl public opinion have again and
again borne witness to the remarkable breadth and dignity of Ger6me's art.
From them we shall gain a fullei appreciation ol his attainments, a deeper insight
into hi-, aims. The Master's own words, too, while betraying the unaffected
modestj characteristic oi truly greal natures, will reveal to us a nobility of
conception, an energy ol achievement, a loftiness ol aspiration, and a passion foi
the truth, as genuine as they are rare. \<l<l to these transcendent qualities the
profundity "i a scientist, the imagination oi .1 poet, a perception trained by years
ol travel and research, and a skill thai triumphs over all difficulties oi tec hniqui
fuse and blend the whole by the white heat oi thai gifl of the gods, the un-
quenchable fire "I genius, and we have Gerome, the artist, fitly described by an
eminent writer in the London Athenaeum as "the august leader ol the French
school, in whoso hands, more than in those of any one else, rest the nobles!
traditione il and learned school."
Before entering upon ,1 careful consideration oi Gerdme's \ast achievements
in ill their captivating detail, ii is desirable to take a rapid survey of his work as
a whole, especially comparing the opinions oi the most illustrious critics among
hi-- own countrymen, whose broad and scholarly training inclines them to be
exacting to the verge of severity, and whose judgment is therefore oi inestimable
value and weight to those who desire to study these fascinating creations in their
many-sided bul harmonious entirety.
llis productions naturally group themselves into several distinct classes,
which draw their inspiration from the Antique, the Orient, Modern History, and
the realm ol Fantasy the latter finding its themes anywhere in the wide region
thai lies between ancient mythology and our ultra civilization.
Among the pictures in the tirst group which display the highesl artistic
qualities, combined with the science of the savant and the historian, we ma>
number the Combat de Cogs, Anacrdon, A Greek Interior, Bacchus wi,/ Love, Age
0/ lugustus, Ave Caesar, Imperator ! King Candaules, two presentations of the
Death ol Caesar , Phryn6 before tin- Areopagus, The Two Augurs, Socrates seeking
Alcibiades at the house of Aspasia, /'//<• Comedians, Cleopatra <///</ Caesar, Pollice
Verso, The Circus Maximus, and The Last Prayer, otherwise known as /'//.■
( 'hristian Martyrs.
\\ e max not dwell here on the varied beauties of these masterpieces, in which
we find poetie idealitj and historical accuracy, classic simplicity and wealth ol
decoration, dramatii intensitj and religious resignation, humor, pathos. -
//// AND WORKS Of II I \ ll'j'.Y i,l /,, 3
philosophy, action, repose, the J03 oi life, the majesty oi death! And all
crystallized in a beaut} oi form thai can only be modeled by the hand oi the
greatesl master oi draughtsmanship in the world.
h seems almosl inconceivable, yel there have been critics of limited per-
ceptions and faulty education who have ventured to reproach Gerome for the
archaeological erudition displayed in many oi his pictures! I fancy thai most
of us will agree with Gautier, who pronounces n "one oi the mosl interesting
provinces oi painting, while always remaining within the conditions oi art,
to resurrecl a vanished civilization and evoke the image oi things forever gone
from sight."
h is to be regretted thai there exists no reproduction oi one oi the mosl
importanl examples of Gerdme's power in ihis direction, namely: The Age oj
Augustus, an imposing canvas nearly thirty feel square which adorns the walls
oi the National Museum al Amiens. The condition oi art in France, at the time
this picture was painted, has been well described by Allied de Tanouarn, a
thoughtful observer and able writer.
(in. is astonished [he sa\'s|. and with just cause, that our painters Oj
history have remained so far helow the level ol our historians. Ilisi
painting, far from reflecting the splendors oi written history, becomes more and
more obscure. How explain so sad an inconsistent J -
" In the first place, we must lay the blame lor such a stale ol things on the
slighl education ol the greater number ol our artists. Their mih care being to
become acquainted with the material secrets ol their art. they forgel to pi
themselves with a stock oi ideas. They are mill-stones which have no wheal to
grind, and which turn in a vacuum a very fatiguing exercise lor those who
perform it and tor the spectator. Assuredly, to represent an animal, a tree, a
flower, there is need ol correct judgment, a poetic spirit, and a skillful pencil; hut
to attack historic genre, entirely different arms are necessary, Above all. beware
of thinking that it will suffice to have vague, incoherent, and badly digested ideas,
which you have received at the moment ol commencing your canvas. He who
would take his first lesson in fencing an hour before presenting himsell for the
encounter, would run no trifling risk ' It pleases you to execute a scene m
Roman history; will you hastilv read some translation ol a passage m Titus
Livitts or Tacitus' You will thus only obtain a work without character and
without depth. You should have lived long years in close intimac} with your
pel onages. One succeeds more easily with the portrail ol a man whom one sees
every day; one can only represent, in their striking reality, the nations and hi Oi
wnli whom one has become familiar through study and reflection. Here science
is not the enemy ol inspiration, since, on the contrary, inspiration cannot spring
forth where there is no science. In a word, il, in order to paint religious pictures,
one must believe to be a historical painter, one must know. And so much the
more to-day, since the progress ol history has rendered us more exacting toward
I ////, AND IIOXA'S Ol J I M ll.o\ G&RdMl
painters, and when we arc inclined to demand much of them, they arc able to
gn e us Inn little.
II the artisl possesses sufficient instruction, another obstacle presents itsell
to him. History, it is true, has in our day been treated in a superior manner ; but
there exists no mural bond, ii" common thought, among our historians. Each one
id them interprets events a little after his own fancy. The painters oi histor) do
nol work differently. They scarcely follow anything bul theii individual caprice,
and often the) stra) awaj withoul perceiving it themselves, from historic genre
and [all into pure lanlasv .
"Finally, romanct occupies a no les> important place than history in the
present literature. It has lately touched upon questions that seem the most
foreign i<> it; it aspires to everything. It has been in turn religious, philosophical,
and social; lugubrious, fantastic, and humorous; maritime and rural, sentimen-
tal and satirical, aristocratic, bourgeois, popular. It has traveled through all
epochs of history and to all the corners oi the earth. It has penetrated all the
mysteries oi the heart and all the recesses ill society. In a word, the romance
has become the favorite distraction oi well-to-do people, and the intellectual
pasture oi the lower classes. Now, it is the painting oi genre which, in the
domain ol art, corresponds to the romance in that ol literature. It add
itsell to the same tastes, to the same appetites. The painters ol genre have
then multiplied among us in proportion to the novelists. They have increased
rapidly; they have invaded every domain, excusing themselves for thus lowering
the level oi .hi ii\ the necessity ol pleasing the crowd. This excuse is nol
valid, save lor feebly endowed minds.
" The artist who has the consciousness ot his strength does not consult, with
servile anxiety, the inclinations ol the multitude; he interrogates himself. He
should not follow the public, hut lead it. It is tor him to command, not to o
" »i clonic merits then, more than any one. serious consideration and thought-
ful attention, since he has endeavored to fertilize a field become sterile by dint
ol having been cultivated.
"Devout worshiper of /■/ grande peinture, he is worthy to enter into the
temple and to serve the divinity. It is then with pleasure that we devote i
this study, in which our aim is to consider him. above all, as a painter <>! history,
although he has shown his powers in almost every genre.
'The young artisl acquired at Rome that taste lor Latin antiquity which he
has always preserved, sinc< the most important pictures executed by him up to
ih. presenl momenl (i860) are borrowed from the Romans. Far he it from me
to complain ol this; I am not ol those who sa} :
•• ' Who will deliver us from the Greeks and the Romans?' In the first place,
the imagination will never free itsell from the remembrance of these two nations
destinies have been so glorious. Besides, they offer to the paintei
guides and suppoiis, literary geniuses ol the first order: and it is no despicable
advantagi to bi abli to di in one's inspirations and images from writers such as
Herodotus or Thucydides, Titus Livius or Tacitus. One must nol however adopt
one nation to the exclusion of all others. The artist is a traveler, who should
*r
••
I III. \ND WORKS <>/■ // l\ l/o\ ,,/ -
roam through history as through a vasl domain, and no1 choose any countn
where he will elecl to remain forever; he should go e\ ery where and live nowhere,
A. journey through Egypl is the complemenl ol ever) voyagi having foi its aim
a profound knowledge of antiquity. Ii is in Egypl thai the civilization ol the
pagan world commenced; but ii vegetated there, slowly and silently: ii onlj
manifested itsell in its expansive energy among the Greeks and the Romans
Greece explains itsell by Egypt, and Rome by Greece."
Tins able dissertation was evoked by the exhibition, al the Salon of 1855,
ot the Age 0/ Augustus, in which the artisl has grouped around the throne ol the
deified emperor types ol all nations and epochs, displaying in striking measure
the knowledge and skill which drew from the distinguished Charles Blanc, one
of the immortals of the French Academy, and former director of the Beaux-
Arts, the opinion that "GfirOme, among other merits, has not Ins equal in the
art ol particularizing races, and of transforming into powerful types the most
profoundlj individual physiognomies." tie further characterizes this canvas as
"a \ 1st and noble work."
In the introduction to the " History of the Works oi Thtophile Gautier,
valuable and eloquent treatise by the Vicomte de Spoelberch de Lovenjoul, we find
the following well-merited tribute: "Lei us acknowledge, without fear oi exag-
geration, Theophile Gautier is, iii our estimation, the tnosl perfeel French stylist
of his age and perhaps of all time. No one has knowi better than he how to say
preciselj what he wished to say. and his pen reproduces the most intangible
nuance, the most fugitive impression, with an absolute perfection."
[n the absence, then, ol any pictorial reproduction of the Age of A ugustus, ii is
doubly a matter tor congratulation thai Gautiei was so impressed by the lofty
ambition and extraordinary learning shown in this composition, thai he devoted
to it ten pages ol an inimitable critique, itsell a picture glowing with 1
which we give in lull, regretting profoundly, in this ease as in all other citations
in this volume, the loss ol the more exquisite shades id phrasing inseparable from
every translation, however conscientious and sympathetic.
When we remember also that (ierome spent more than two year.-, ol arduous
labor on this canvas, and finished it before he was thirty-one j'ears old, we may
easil) comprehend the astonished admiration ol these older minds before the
profound acquirements oi a comparative youth.
It was of the section devoted to the bine Arts at the Universal Exposition of
1855, that Gautier wrote:
"Most of the masters ai this greal Exposition have done nothing
to plac< again before eyes which had not forgotten them, the most perfeel
canvases among their glorious works. One would say that, having arrived
I III-. AND WORKS, Ot /I IX li:o\ ,,/./
at the middle of this century in which they wen- bom, they wish, on this supreme
occasion, to force the world to recognize their title to nobility and their right to b<
inscribed in the livred'oroi painting; but very few of these magnificenl pictures
an contemporary with the present era. M. G6rfime, who is young, through
honorable modesty, has not thoughl tit to draw upon his recent masterly produc-
tions, which we should have seen again with pleasure: the Combat </<■ Cogs,
I. Int&rieur Gret . Bat , hus < t
V Amour, Le Temple de Pcestum,
L'Idylle, etc. Everything that he
exhibits appears lor the first time,
lie. like many others, might have
contented himself with an assured
success in remaining within the
limits ot a pure, tine, and graceful
talent ; hut, seized with a nobler
ambition, he has risked an im-
mense composition on a gigantic
', canvas.
"Ilis Age of Augustus is a
valiant effort, which we trust will
find more imitators ; such noble
daring is too rare youth, nowa-
days, is too prudent; M. Heroine
deserves this praise, that he is
seeking, with all his might,
beauty, nobility, and style ; in
tael. all the <|Ualllles ot serious
art, and that he often attains
them. He has made a genuine
historical picture, in the lofty
Sense in which this word was
formerly understood, and he merits the chief place in the new generation,
A page ol Bossuet has inspired the artist with the idea of his composition.
We shall quote it. at the risk ol giving to our prose the doubtful luster which
the neighborhood ol pure gold imparts to copper:
" ' The remnant ol the republic perishes with Brutus and C'assius ; An tuny and
Caesar, alter having ruined Lepidus, turn one upon the other; the entire Roman
powei is found upon tin sea ; Cesar gains the battle oi viiimi tin forces oi
Egypt and the ( blent, led by Antony, an . mi. i. d ; all his 1 1 lends abandon him,
even his Cleopatra, for whom be sacrificed himself Everything gives way
before the fortune Oi Caesar; Alexandria opens to him her gates, Egypt becomes
a Roman province; Cleopatra, who despairs of being able to retain it. kills
herself, alter Antony ; Rome holds out her arms to Caesar, who, bearing the name
ol Augustus and title of F.mpcror. reigns sole master ol the entire empire; he
conquers, in the neighborhood ol the Pyrenees, the Cantabrians and the rebellious
THE CHRISTIAN MARTYRS
OR
THE LAST PRAYER
///•'/ L\/> WORKS 0/ // M VdME 9
Asturians; Ethiopia sues for peace; the Parthians, terrified, send back to him
the standards taken from Crassus, togethei with all the Unman prisoners; India
seeks Ins alliance; the power oi his arms is felt by the Rhaetians, whom their
mountains could not defend. Pannonia recognizes him, Germany fears him, and
the Weser submits to his laws. Victorious on land and sea, he closes the Temple
ot Janus. The whole universe lives in peace under his rule, and Jesus Christ is
bom into the world.'
I he canvas ot (ierome is not unworthy this sublime page and can serve
as an illustration lor it. We shall try to describe, as well as words will pi rmit,
the appearance of this vast composition, which embraces an entire ccntun and
a whole world in a synthetic form. Against a sky of placid azure, untroubled by
a single cloud, is outlined the Temple oi Janus, with its pediment surmounted
by the quadriga closed lor the third time since the foundation of Rome: m ilu
round can be seen, in the haze ol the distance, the ramparts and towei oi
the Eternal City. The soft and luminous serenity of an apotheosis floods the
upper portion oi the canvas, giving an idea of peace, repose, .and happiness.
Before the Temple, Augustus, deified, i^ seated upon a throne ol gold, suppi
by a pedestal of granite, on which this inscription is engraved in lapidary style
and lettering: ' Caesar Augustus, imperator , victor Cantabrorum, Asturum, Par-
thorum, Rhcetorum et Indorum, Germanics, Pannoniceque domitor, pacificator
orbis, pater patriot. '
" Ceesar Augustus has the nude torse ol the great gods oi Olympus; a white
drapery covers his thighs and knees; the victor's crown encircles his brow ;
a scepter is in his left hand, while with the right he K ms on the shoulder ol a
figure ol Rome, personified by a beautiful helmeted woman, clad in a shon red
chlamys, a shield on her arm, and holding reversed the point ol a useless lance
twined with laurels, a symbol ot peace acquired bv victory.
Near the emperor one perceives the statuette of Jupiter Capitolinus
and tin eagle drawing near to the master with an air at once caressing and
respectful.
'The countenance of Augustus calm, majestic, radiant is ol a noble
character; like the immortals who know everything, Ins eves regard nothing,
and his lips are closed in an immutable halt-sinile. A human Jupiter, he needs
but to knit his brows to win the world ; his body, whose smooth contours give no
prominence to the muscles, betrays a virile but thoroughly intellectual po
which has nothing of the sturdiness ot the athlete, the defects oi nature have
disappeared; the Besh lias become marble and the man, God. In the midst oi
this immense composition, Augustus, immovable and pale, lias the appearance
o! a statue worshiped bv a prostrate universe. The figure ol Rome is no less
happy. She alone dares to lean against the throne m a pose ot familiar and
superb grace. Shi is at home in this glory, and the splendors of the apotheosis
illuminate withoul dazzling her. She regards Augustus as does a wile her
beloved husband: Rome and the emperor, do they not form, indeed, a divine
couple? Her figure, noble, pure, and linn, attests an eternal youth and just dies
the meaning of her mysterious name.
lo ///■/■ i\/> WORKS ol // l\ II. o\ G&R&MI
\\ the righl angle oi the pedestal stands young Tiberius in a white toga
and prason mantle. Beneath the juvenile charm ol bis features profound and
sinister thoughts reveal themselves, and one divines a precocious satiet} presaging
the monstrous debauches ol Capri a
" Behind Tiberius arc massed, in attitudes ol resped and admiration, the men
"i state, senators and consuls, among whom one recognizes Agrippa, the foundei
oi the Pantheon ; Maecenas, whose ancestors were Icings ; Marcellus, thai hopi oi
thi world, whose premature death inspired the singer <>i the /Eneid with such
eloquenl verses.
1 I'm this group corresponds thai <>i the poets, tin- hit, rateurs, and the artists ;
the gentle and melancholy Virgil, pressing to Ins bosom as it to indicate thai
beautiful thoughts come from the heart the chef-d'oeuvre which he desired
should he burned after Ins death ; Horace, so lyrical, mi witty, and so wise in his
feigned intoxication; Propertius, Tibullus, Livius, Vitruvius a sculptor with his
chisel, an actor with his mask ; everything that makes up a greal age, such as the
age oi Pericles 01 Augustus; the age oi Leon X. or ol Louis XIV,
"On the marble steps oi the monumental staircase which leads from the
squan in fronl oi the temple to the second plane ol the picture, is stretched oul
the body oi Julius Caesar, assassinated; Brutus and Cassius, the Orestes and
Pylades ol this political murder, have alread) descended several steps, and are
starting lor Philippi, where the die is cast which seals the fate oi th, Republic.
Brutus still grasps bis poniard, and seems troubled by the tender reproach ' In
quoque, mi ////.'' Cassius, bis band shading his eyes, seeks to pierce the veil ol
the future.
"Cleopatra writhes on tlie body oi Antony, charming even in ber agony, and
meriting, by the undulating curves of her beautiful figure, the title of the
'Serpen! ol the Nile.' given to her by Shakespeare. The Egyptian pshent
encircling her pure Greek head causes her to he instantly recognized beside the
herculean body of her lover. Each enemy forms a step of the throne ol
\ LlgUStUS.
" At the loot ot the staircase throngsa kneeling, prostrate crowd, which kisses
the steps touched by the buskins oi the emperor, throws flowers, and waves palms ;
fr the furthermost ends of the then known world the nations hasten to make
acl ol submission. Here arc- Indians from the hanks of the Gai niched
in ]ioscs ot idols upon an elephant, a heavy massive animal with a ladder on his
flank by way ol a stirrup. Theii bronzed skin, their odd weapons, their mon-
strous fetiches, mounted on the ends ol long lance-Staves, like standards, recall the
battles of Darius and Alexander. Vanquished by the Macedonians, they arc now
subdued by the Romans, as later on they will he hy the English.
'Behind the Indians com a re, representing the extreme Orient ; by his
shaved head, and fantasl icallv llowercd rohc. it is not difficult to recognize the
ancestor of the Chinesi hi brings, in tribute, a coffei filled with silk tissues, A
Parthian restores the eagles taken from Crassus Rome could never have been
defi ated ' \ woman from Central Asia, in almost savage costume, pushes before
her two children, infantile Roman citizens; a Greek, with casque, cuirass, and
LIFE \ND WORKS Oh // l\ LEON GERdME, II
enemides, acclaims the divine Augustus ; a Gaul, clad in the skin of a wild bi
whose open jaws form a cresl above Ins head, makes his wa} joyousl) toward
the throne.
" We mention only the principal figures, for the crowd is great, and no gaps
are visible on the well-filled canvas.
" ( )n the other side, to counterbalance i be elephant and Ins burden of Indian-.
advances a file of dromedaries, with Arabs perched up aloft, draped in their while
burnous and carrying, as weapons, hows and bucklers; Egyptians, with theit
sphinx-like countenances; Xnniidians. preserved till now from the yoke bj thi
nearness ot the desert, but whom the power oi Augustus has reached even in the
midst of their sandy wastes; an aged sovereign oi some fantastic kingdom oi
Transoxiana. or Chaldea, approaches sullenly, supported, as ii on two living
crutches. 1>\ two deim nu.le slaves the one Yellow, the other black. He wears
strange weapons : a sceptei decorated with plumes, a robe of brocade, a crown with
golden points. \nd with his silver} bend flowing in great waves, and his air oi
river-god or magian, hall-idol, hall-monarch, he seems sunn- fabulous apparition
from unknown regions. Lictors and soldiers oi irresistible muscularity drag
along b\ the hair captives of both sc\es personification oi the rebellious prov-
inces obliged to submit to superior force.
"Aparl from all this movement stands a personage with a reddish beard,
clothed in miserable rags, which make a blot , >u all lb is luxury ; he III list be a Jew .
perhaps the lather oi AhaSUerus. A purse oi leather and an inkhorn hang al
lus side; his onh weapon is ,i walking-stick, and he regards vaguely this proces-
sion of nativ es w ho despise him and whom he is to SUH
"Let us return now to the center ot the composition, forced as we an
neglect a thou -and ingenious and characteristic details ; but a picture is read at a
single glanci the lines are spelled out one by one.
" Before an altar where the acolytes have jusi sacrificed a bull, over the gray
embers and charred bones of the holocaust and the withered leaves of crowns and
garlands, shines a luminous group, sheltered by the wings of an angel. The little
child has just been bom ; he wails while Cesar triumphs, his only courtiers the
ox and the ass '
"The confused presentiments of Virgil are accomplished. As he has said in
his prophetic verses, a new order of a^es is beginning :
" Ultima Cumaei venit jam carminis aetas ;
ius at) integro saeclorum nascitur ordo;
Jam redit, et Virgo, redeunt Saturnia regna;
Jam nova progenies coslo dimittitur alto.
" In order to emphasize more forcible the contrast between the pagan ami the
Christian world, between the world of matter and that of mind, the painter has
borrowed from the Gothic art his naive grace, his modestly restrained poses, his
infantine timidity, for his figures of the Holy Virgin, of St. Joseph, and the child
Jesus. He has introduced into hi- grand antique bas-relief an engraving "ii
wood ol Albeit Diirer.
i -' ///■/ AND WORKS (>/ II l\ l/.<\ G£ROMl
rhe upper zone of thi painting where the apotheosis is taking place lias
the serene immovability, the harmonious rhythm, the balance of line oi a fronton
of white marble, sculptured in the facade oi a temple ; the lower zone presents a
strange swarm and tumuli of people and costumes, in which there is more liberty
"i capi ice.
" M. Gerfime excels in ethnographic paintings, as he lias proved by a frieze
foi the vase commemorat ive ol the Exposition ; no one seizes more perfectly than
he the distinctive characteristics ol a race, or renders them with a surer touch.
Hen he had to represent nations, the greater part ol which had disappeared
without leaving anj traces, or lived only on some medals or fragments ol sculp-
ture ; and w hen archaii al ■ ii til i I ailed him. he has had recourse to his ingenious
imagination, and invented savage Rhaetians, Parthians, Hindoos, and Germans ol
the mos1 likel] barbarity. This part oi the picture assembles the most curious
details oi amis, jewels, costumes, coiffures, and physiognomies; nothing is
commonplace nor made at a venture. Everything is the result ol infinite
thought and rcscan Ii
"In beholding this beautiful canvas, where Augustus, deified and radiant, is
isolated OH a thrum oi gold at the top ol a white staircase, whose first steps are
bathed by waves ol barbarians, having near him only a young warrior unarmed,
the idea occurred to us that the ea>d had too great a number ol worshipers ; that
ili. 11 hordes were moving forward, massing themselves, and becoming more and
more aggressive and savage, and thai soon the] would submerge this luminous
platform where. 111 the golden and blue atmosphere, smile Peace, Poetry, and Art.
" We do nol know if M. Gerfime had this idea, but it springs up naturally at
the si^ht ol these tranquil groups, beneath which loams and surges the rising tide
oi barbarity, checked only lor a moment. Rome will always he ' tin lily,' par
excellence, hut St. Peter will replace Caesar, and the Roman Empire will disappear.
"The composition oi the \ge of Augustus is ol high philosophical imporl
it satisfies the mind and arranges itself happily upon tin- canvas; the drawing
oi the nude figures and the draperies displays style, knowledge, and strength;
unfortunately the color is a little thin tor so large a canvas, which needs to
he more empdtee better nourished, so to speak. The artist lias wished to
remain sober and pure; and in an atelier, doubtless tOO small, he has probabh
not sufficiently taken into consideration the demands ol perspective in a
picture ol these dimensions."
Alter a minute and critical survey of this memorable Salon, Gautier a
returns totn'rome's noble work and. with increased admiration, declares it to be
no •• medioi re glory foi a young artist thus to achieve a place among the acknow-
ledged masters, wdio are supported by a past Idled by renowned creations "; and
adds, "The Age of Augustus will rank as one of the great canvases ol the
Exposil ion."
This superb eulogy from such a source deepens our regrel thai this master-
piece has never been photographed or otherwise reproduced lor the benefit ol oi
LIFE AND WORKS OF // IX LEON GEROME
'3
collections and students. In this, as in all (irninu's pictures representing nol
only absolute historical facts but the social conditions and customs oi bygone
ages, as well as in the great mass of those taken from Oriental life, this artist
reveals bis extraordinary pre-eminence as a figure painter. A.1 an early age he
recognized the fact that an absolute masterj oi the contour ami anatomy oi the
human body is essential tn the expression oi the noblest forms ol art. Working
in the atelier of Delaroche. where Greek
antiquity received the most profound
consideration, and almost exclusively
absorbed the attention of the students,
the young artist, with eye and mind ever
on the alert to discover and supplement
his weak points, realized that Nature
was the great fountain-head of truth
and beauty, and applied himself with
rigorous conscientiousness to the more
difficult study of living models, lie dis-
covered for himsell the truth repeatedly
.md forcibly emphasized by Philip Gil-
bert llamertou, cine ol the most gifted
and able among English art-critics.
v. that ' ' the serious si udv of the
naked figure is the only possible founda-
tion lot great figure painting."
Indeed, one need only examine the
various schools of art. from those- oi Ancient Greece to the leading modern
academies, to find everywhere this fundamental law recognized and taught.
The greatest oi German critics, the immortal Goethe, appreciated and continually
enforced it. His opinions on this point are admirably summed up in a striking
review of his ' ' Yerschiedciics iiber Kunst," from the pen of the accomplished
fhei iphile < rautier, Ills.
I
'The aesthetics oi Goethe [he writes], the principle-, which he professed in
regard to the plastic and glyptic arts, are condensed in this species of appendix.
Stripped oi all artifice of style, laid down as laws rather than counsels, we
recognize thai they are written by this intellectual fupitei enthroned upon the
Olympus of German art ; and il is not only his omnipotence, the despotism he
imposed on all branches of art which has gained for him this title ol Olympian ;
it is also, and above all. the nature of his principles and his .artistic tastes.
"Goethe is essentially pagan ; he everywhere glorifies antiquity, not only in
his literary works but in these detached and. so to speak, scientific fragments
14 III I AND WORKS, Of Jl i\ //i>\ G&RdAfl
which we are now considering; we find here a mass oi notes on Greek vases,
medals, and engraved stones; he follows up attentively all productions, all
creations, all memoirs having reference to antiquity. When the excavations were
begun on a large scale al Pompeii, be described in detail the paintings and obje< ts
discovered there ; he was conversanl with everything thai was published, in all
languages, on the subject of his predilection ; it was he who authenticated the
paintings oi Polygnotus and Philostratus. It appears that this love of antiquity,
oi pure art, was innate with Goethe, and radiated from his entire person-
ality He placed art .dime everything; he wished th.it it should be a star,
to shed its lighl over all our action . ill our productions, like the beautiful Attic
sun gilding with it-, rays the inimitable marbles oi the Acropolis, the lines .-mil
contours ol whuh it has nol wearied oi caressing for centuries. Be the high
position he occupied .it the enni ol Weimar, which the Grand Duke Charles
Augustus had made the intellectual capital ol Herman v . Got tin was m a position
to efficaciously patronize the arts and to lead them in the direction he desired.
Wliile giving his counsels to artists, and principally to sculptors, to whom
antique art furnished more themes than to painters, he indicated al the same
time to sovereigns, and personages influential b) their position or their fortune
the means oi favoring the development of art and the subjects which should he
chosen, as much in the interest of the artists, as lor the advantage id those who
patronized them, and tor the promotion of public taste. He would have liked to
lor example, the vases, columns, temples, and obelisks, in promenades and
parks, replaced by statues and. principally, busts. 'The most beautiful mon-
ument of man,' says he, is imin. A beautiful bust is preferabh to all the
architecture oi our gardens, and it is the best monument one can raise m
remembrance of a greal man. a relative, or a friend. One should nol too
exclusively occupy sculptors with insipid allegories, or historic groups and
statues, where art is always restrained by exigencies ol every nature, Xo one
should be astonished to sec m sonic council-chamber, or any other official locality,
a group representing Venus and Adonis, or some subject drawn from Homer.'
■'But if Goethe is so passionate an admirer of antiquity, it must not be
concluded, therefore, that he admits only antique subjects; his lofty intelligence
would grasp too well the taultmess of this method, which has produced among us
the deplorable school ol David : ami this last example, perhaps, inspired him to
avoid the breakers on which too exclusive a doctrine would have dashed him. He
counsels one to simply study Mature.
"'On /</<■ days | he says| let the young artisi go to watch the peasants
dance; let him Study well their movements and their poses, let him clothe the
young girl with the tunic of a nymph ; let him lengthen the ears of his peasant and,
it needful, give him cloven feel ; if he has grasped Nature well, and known how
to suitably modify her corporeal forms, while carefully preserving the movement,
no one will suspect the quarter whence he has taken his models and they will
swear that he has copied from the antique.'
" Have we not here the entire explanation of the antique, and does nol the
secret ol this inimitable perfection lie in exact and scrupulous observation not
///•/ l\/> WORKS Oh // IX I h>\ (./.KOMI 15
oJ \s li.it is ugly, bin oi the beautiful in Vature? Is il tiol also the province of art
to gather together beauties scattered here and there, and combine them in a
harmonious whole, an ideal model, whose movements can be infinitely varied, bul
whoso /onus should be always reproduced, thus avoiding the indelicate and the
grotesque. I larmony is what makes the power of the antique, and Goethe re< om
mends it everywhere and unceasingly.
•■ 'There exist in Nature | he says] many things which separately are beauti-
ful. Hut genius consists in finding the point oi contact by which they can be
attached to each other, and a masterpiece thus be produced, There is not a shruh
1101 a tree to which one cannot adds value hv means oi a rock, a pool ot water, or
a horizon skillfully arranged. It is the same in regard to the human form ami all
animated beings ' '
" When Goethe recommends the study oi Nature, it is not ot inanimate nature
that he speaks; it is not of landscape, on which he dilates hut little: still less
ol still life, which he does not so much as mention. Nature, for him, is man.
Man. according to him. includes e\ erything ; and the knowledge ol man. far from
being a limited physiology, comprehends the study of all the arts and all the
sciences.
" ' Man I he savs| is the most elevated, the unique object ot the plastic arts ; lo
understand him. and in order not to go astray in the labyrinth of his construction,
a universal acquaintance with organic nature is indispensable. The study ol
inorganic bodies, as well as of physical and chemical phenomena, is not less
necessary to the artist, who should know theii theoretical principles. The human
form cannot be understood by the simple inspection ol it outward surface ; the
interior must he uncovered ami fathomed, the connections and correspondences
observed and the differences estimated; those mysterious portions ol the being
which are the base and foundation must he compared and understood. All this
must Ik- done it we wish to get a clear idea ol this wonderful object which moves
before our eyes in the waves of the vital element.'
We find the same ideas in a masterly essay by Charles Blanc, who writes
as follow s
\ll«! having admired the universe, man comes to contemplate himself.
He recognizes that the human form is the one which corresponds to the
mind that, regulated by proportion and symmetry, free by movement, superior
through beauty, the human form, of all living forms, is the only one capable
ol fully expressing thought."
(ieromc. as we have said, apprehended this truth at the very beginning ot his
career. On his return lo the atelier, with perceptions broadened ami sharpened
by a year of indefatigable study at Rome, where he had sketched indiscrimi-
nai.lv landscape, architect lire, animals, ami figures -he felt more keenly than
ever his pressing need of practice in drawing and painting from the nude. He
.set himself to make a life-size study, and the result was the Combat de Cogs I
i6
I II I I VD II ORKS Of /I I \ i / , • \ ,,l Rd Ml
him n was onlj a stud} and, in his already severely critical estimation, an
unsatisfactor} one, Bui the trained eye ol Delaroche instantly perceived its
amazing qualities "I verit} . originalit} , and elegance oi style, by which an every-
day incident in thai epoch oi Greek life was elevated into the domain of classic
art. At his express command, and despite the trembling protest of the young
neophj te, the canvas was sent to thi Salon of 1847. '' was accepted and, though
placed twenty meters above the line, where hung Couture's imposing Decadence
of the Romans, and Delacroix's famous Shipwreck, the simple s tudy carried ofi a
medal, was boughl 1>\ th< I rench Government, and assigned a place among the
Immortals in the Galler} oi the Luxembourg, It was this firsl picture which
attracted the attention ot Gautier, who warml} praised its " delicacy and exquisite
distinction," and pronounced il "a composition no Master would disown."
Our attention has several times been drawn to another criticism ot this same
pi( 1 inc. It reads as follows :
The subject was thus early in his history characteristic ol Ger6me, who
has shown a decided preference for incidents in themselves horrible. or morally
repulsn e."
This extraordinary accusation, the shocking injustice ot which is evident
to any student oi G£r6me's wanks, is found in a volume entitled "Modern
Painters and then Paintings," b} Sarah Tytler, We should accord it only the
silent contempt u merits, were n not thai the 1 k is designed, as we see empha-
sized m the preface, "for the use of schools and learners in art." To sa) the
least, it is discouraging to take up, in this enlightened age, a treatise with this
aim. and realize that so marked a narrowness ot apprehension exists in a mind
thai presumes to guide and teach others, We prefer to believe it the result oi
ignorance ot the subject treated, rather than rank it with a like judgment ol that
inimitable philosopher and moralist. Balzac, who, even alter posterity had begun
to estimate, at their real value, his stupendous merits, still found detractors to
cast upon him what Gautier trenchantly denominates as "thai hackneyed
reproach ol immorality, last insult ol powerless and jealous mediocrity, as also
ol pure stupidity."
Ilamerton also, keenly realizing the hurtful influence of illiberal criticism.
deplores the ignorance, which in reality is the chiet cause of the " difficult} with
which people, not familiar with the naked figure, come iii sever the ideas ,,t
nudity and immoralit] and adds: II writers who arc destitute ut pictorial
perceptions, yel have a command of language, become for some reason warmly
interested in a discussion about artists, they are able to do considerable harm,
because they combine the ignorance and willfulness of infancy with the com-
bative skill of trained intellectual method."
LIFE AND WORKS OF J I /. LEOh GER&ME. 19
We heartily agree with Mr. Hamerton, and are content to offsel the opinions
oi this class oi self-styled critics, as superficial ;m«l incompetent as they are detri
mental to the progress "I true art, by the judgment of so learned and world
renowned an authority as Alexandre Dumas, who writes oi Gerdmi
"A serious talent, and oi an elevated order; an artist who looks a1 his art
nobly and who devotes to it his existeno ever) instant, every thought; one
breathes freely again before such works as his; above all, when, like us, one has
sighed, ' Alas ! the standard oi ar1 is being lowered ! ' "
Or to quote the words of thai othei distinguished immortal, the eloquenl and
gifted director of the Comedie Franchise, Jules Claretie
"(ierome can. with good right, treat these antique subjects and \i\ilv them
with his art. so sober, so chaste, so pure."
And again :
•• His art is like his person, like his intelligence ; everything which hears his
signature, he it bronze 01 canvas, -ketch or marble, is true, vigorous and dis-
tinguished, like himself, In a word. Gerdme is a thoroughbred."
And it is with peculiar satisfaction that we hail the advenl oi an American
writer like Mrs. C. II. Stranahan, who, iii her "History ol French Painting"
(published by Scribner in 1888), has made the most valuable contribution in the
English language t.. the arl lit ratun oi our daw It is a volume that might
well be used as a text-book in all arl academies, and that certainly should have B
prominent place in every public and private library. Although one may differ
with some ol the author's conclusions, the work reveals broad and thoughtful
study, combined with .1 Inn capacity for criticism, and a literary style remarkable
tor grace, lucidity, and vigor. We take pleasure in quoting freelj from Mrs
Stranahan's admirable book.
In opening her study oi GerOme, sh< says
" The artistic qualities ol Ger&me bave been the subject of much discussion.
His rare endowments are a study ot great interest. He is an Orientalist ol so
in lime a treatment that that alone would suffice to render bun eminent; hi
executed great historic works, that singly might make bis tame universal ; he is
so learned a painter ol the antique, that a close study of this department oi bis
work produces a sense oi amazed wonder in view of the underlying knowledge
,u\ 1.1 afford his significant touch of motifs, by which he introduces us into
family circles and enables us to chat ol everyday affairs with the heroes ol
one and another period ; be has applied to incident the classic treatment, and
originated a new style, the refined and graceful neo-grei , he has, even at tin- time
when he was .me of the closi I "I Nature's students, made liarmom ol line SO
///■/■ \ND WORKS 01 II I \ IIHY i.i.NoMl
prominent a pari of his work, thai in the difficulty of assigning him to anyone
class ol painting, it has been suggested by Strahan that he he termed 'a sculptor
ol canvas'; he has attacked and conquered some of the most difficult problems ol
art execution such as uniting the most finished treatmenl with great rapidity
tit movement (as in The Runners of the Pasha; "the catching "I .1 motion" as
it were, by instantaneous photography); the greatest success oi fore-shortening
(as in the Mat level oi Caesar's dead body and that in the Execution 0/ Marshal
VI 1 1, and difficulties oi design are Bung broadcast in his works."
Referring to some oi the scenes in which Ger6me simply relates, without
comment, a historical fact, such as the exposing oi the heads oi the rebel beys
before the Mosque oi Id Assaneyn, <>r where he depicts an everyday scene in
the slave market, leaving it to tell its own pathetic tale, Mrs. Stranahan speaks
ol the truthful por-
trayal of the " indif-
oi familiar
custom," adding :
"Manj critics
feel that some ex-
pression "i m
volting impression
made by these
heads, would, but
for the coldness of
the arti>t himself,
have cix-pt into this
picture. Hut bi
being subordinately
a correct representation of the national characteristics, is not the effeel sought,
the emotion oi horror, which also has its reverse side, sympathy, greatly
enhanced by the picture's supplying no comment on itself, which would.
indeed, lie wholly superfluous! This reticent flash of an instant ol facts, left
i" tell all there is to say, is peculiarl} Ger6me's. This and The Slave Mart.
wiili cithers of this artist's works tint arc severely criticised by sensitive
judges as oi a harsh coldness, become, in their full suggestion, oi a nature to
produce deep feeling, a thrilling sensation oi anger or pity for the wrong
depicted. This power is inherent in the wide gamut across which the antitheses
represented in them sweep in the contrast to the absence oi all feeling, oi
such extreme provocatives to feeling. The effect, where, as with (.
the scene is given with no strain oi fact, hut by simply the revelations of
an instant, is thrilling. It is the significant point ol these subjects, the one on
which, we may con lecture, their .selection hinged, and evinces a keen appreciation
by the artist of the means ol exciting emotion. It is also illustrated most
powerfully in that selected moment ol the Duel after the Masquerade, when
Illl AND WORKS Of /AM ifj>\ G&RdMl 21
Death, grim and relentless, not as a mask easily thrown off, comes among the
masqueraders al their invitation, and the victor, in the character of a chief ol the
Iroquois, and his second, forgetting thai he is Harlequin, turn indifferentl}
leaving the pallid victim, with Ins mask oi Pierrot dashed aside, to die in Un-
arms of his second, dressed as the Duke ol Guise. The horror here is again
doubled by the antithesis. Through and through it, in all the contours, in the
attitudes, even in the back oi the receding victor, is apparenl the significance,
which Gerdme's patient study of nature can so well express. In all Ins works
may be traced this clear, direct, epigrammatic presentation. Tnih Ins pictures
are hut reports' ot scenes, acts, incidents; hut in Ins hands th.\ Lpletely
31 tpe becoming a purely literary art. lie simplifies them into tin- presentation
ot the essential and significant verities, and unconcernedly leaves them to impress
as they may. Hut well may he he confident ot the effect, for with Ins penetrating
feeling, which is a something too susceptibly perceptive to he denominated mere
ocular vision, and his wide sweep ol the gamut of significant expression, he
always touches the exact keys."
Returning again to "la belle France," we find in La Galerie Contemporaine
a masterly review from the pen of tmile Bergerat, known to all the world as
"Caliban," the witty philosopher of the Tarts Figaro, and still more highly
esteemed as poet, dramatist, ami art critic, worthily wearing in the latter capa< itv
the mantle bequeathed to him h> his intimate friend and kinsman, " le grand
rheo," as Gautier was familiarly called.
\tter brief reference to the wealth of knowledge and imagination displayed in
the pictures which he places under the head ot I'anlaisics, " Bergerat continues :
Scenes from Oriental life form the most considerable portion ol (icronic's
; the numerous voyages of the artist furnish him with an inexhaustible
quantity of picturesque themes, which find their tountaindiead in his great powers
ot observation. Bui the paintings devoted to the restoration ol the antique
are those which, taken all in all, are dearest to the master; it is through them
he awaits his meed of fame, to them thai he has confided the survival of his
11 His expectation will not he deceived on this point. Under this head can
he found canvases that exhale beauty like a page ol Tacitus or Juvenal.
"I wish in the beginning to emphasize this truth : that which caves ('■crome
Ins superiority over most ot his rivals, and establishes his v erv distinct personality.
is his incontestable erudition as a man and an artist. He has innate tact and
taste ; hut he nourishes them with fruit from the tree ot science. It m.iv appear
stale and behind the times thus to boast ot qualities of a literary order in a painter,
and to praise him for being well informed regarding the subjects he treats; hut
since 1 began to look at and study pictures, it has tioi \, i In en demonstrated
to me that a profound knowledge ot the subjects portrayed is hurtful to their
execution. Truth merits research among the graphic documents and lilei.nv
monuments of historj as well as among living and contemporaneous models, and
//// \ND WORKS Of II I \ I /■m ,,ii;nn
the farther we advance in the path oi progress, the more will art be tinged by
science, and the more will it adorn itself with the colors of knowledge."
We leave foi a momenl these paintings, which revive so skillfully the con-
ditions ni life in the nine of Pericles and the Caesars, and nun to those which
are drawn from actual observation during GerSme's many voyages especially
"1 Egypt, Arabia, Palestine, Turkey, Russia, Italy, Algeria, Morocco, and Spain.
\\ hen we find thai by actual counl we have nearly two hundred canvases which
may be denominated " Pictures "I Travel," we come face to face with tin- impos-
sibility "I gh ing anj ad< quate risumi oi the artist's bewildering achievements in
this direction. His numerous and well-filled portfolios oi sketches which till
"•'« have been forthemosl pari "sealed books," save to a few intimate friends
reveal the source oi these truthful and vivid reproductions ol life in these pictur-
esque and fascinating countries. We congratulate ourselves again that a morning
spenl by Gautier in Ger6me's studio, over these very portfolios, inspired this
gifted w hi, i to embodj his impressions in a delightful article, cut it led. "Gerdme
Pictures, Studies, ami Sketches ,,t Travel," (nun which we quote the following
pages, thai will in a measure reveal to us the broad and solid foundation on which
tins Master-Artist has reared his Temple Beautiful.
"The countries where Islam reigns are entirely virgin, in point ol view of
art. The lear oi idolatrj caused the promulgator of the Koran to proscribe the
representation ol the human figure. In this respect. Mahomet imitated Moses;
although the Bible speaks of the heads ol the cherubim at the corners of the Ark
of the Lord, .and ol the o\en upholding the sea of hrass. the exception only con-
firms the rule, the idea ol the unit] oi God could easily have been forgotten by
uncivilized nations, scarcely freed from polytheism .and the worship of fetiches,
always prone to confound the image with the idea it symbolized; this necessan
law perhaps suppressed sculpture and painting, in a word, all the plastic arts,
and the genius of the Orient was obliged to fall back on architecture, ornamenta-
tion, arabesques, and an ingenious milange of colors ; the living world was closed
to man. .and dogma a dogma moreover, rigorously followed deprived him ol
Mature. While the Occident, under the beneficent influence ol Catholicism, (we
say Catholicism and not Christianity, for Luther and Calvin are as detrimental to
art as Mahomet ), was expanding 111 marvelous creations, and counting its painters
.and sculptors l>\ hundreds, the Orient was combining and arranging mathematical
lines, in a thousand ways, lor the decoration ol us alhambras, scarcel} daring to
introduce flowers into i he labyrinth of broken lines and long legends oi cufic
letters which form the background of Arabic ornamentation. They had archi-
tects, algebraists, physicians, musicians, and poets, hut no artists, in the sense in
which we use this word to-day.
However, the Orient produces, in its land beloved of the sun, the most
beautiful races, the purest types; -and the human clay, less altered by civilization,
seems here to retain the si ill visible i in pi mi oi a divine hand.
LIFE AND WORKS <)/■ // i\ LEOh GERdMl 2;,
"It has preserved, at least partly, the drapery, a noble garment which plays
around the form without concealing it; it has the privilege of eleganl and
attitudes, which our scanty clothes render impossible. Since several centuries, all
this wealth is lost ; and more under jealous \cils. and behind the gratings of
harems, are fading away, mysterious beauties, leaving neither trace nor souvenir;
roses, whose perfume can only he conjectured, since they have blossomed only for
the master; heads as exipiisitc as any Raphael could have designed ; bodies as
perfed as m\ Phidias could have modeled ' Singular anomaly !
"One cannot hope that the countries dominated hv Islamism will renounce
their peculiar civilization to embrace the ideas set forth by our own ; hut what is
forbidden to the faithful may be permitted to the unbeliever.
" Until now. art, wholly absorbed by the Creek ideal, has not troubled Ltseli
about this immense world, peopled by unknown races, by unused types, and which
could refresh, by new subjects, its exhausted inspiration.
"'Idle Occident, in the time ot the crusades, only brought back from Africa
and Syria ideas in regard to architecture and ornamentation; if the Sain. 1
influence is visible in the art of the Middle Ages, and if the mosques have lent
their minarets anil even their crosses to Gothic chapels, one does not perceive
that the statuary and painting ot these epochs have been modified by acquaintance
with, and studj ot. these Oriental types. The representations ot Moors and
Saracens in bas-rebets and miniatures are works of pure imagination, Lati I
Jean Bellin made a journey to Constantinople and reproduced, with the dry
and patient fidelity which characterizes him, figures, costumes, and monuments,
whose strangeness, doubtless, struck him more forcibly than did their beauty,
and which had no effect on ail
"The Orient, from its picturesque side, was discovered, or rather invented,
by Victor Hugo, toward the year 1828; the Occidental-Oriental Divan ot Goethe
had not yet been translated; and even had it been, the French people would not
have understood its mysterious poetry; but the 'Orientates' (of Hugo) produced
tzzling effect : this blue heaven traversed by white storks, this glittering sun,
streams oi gold and precious stones, these pachas leaning on tigers, these
resplendent sultanas with their shining blond tresses, languidly raising then
eyelashes stained with khol ; these palms powdered by the wind oi the desert,
these cities with their metallic domes and minarets of ivory stretching up into the
azure, these tiles of camels swaying their long ostrich-like necks against a ruddy
horizon, all this poetry, as dazzling as the light, as intoxicating as hasheesh.
caused a vertigo of admiration above all, among the painters. Soon Decamps
headed the Turkish patrol through the streets of Smyrna, Marilhat started I"'
Egypt, and Eugene Delacroix came back from Morocco; later, other artists joined
the caravan where Felicien David beat the drum. However, we must say that,
in spite of many masterpieces, the Orient was rather reproduced with its strange
landscape, its singular architectural forms, its brilliant carnival ot costumes and
its varied wealth ot color, than studied as to the sculptural beauty of its
types. Marilhat. more of a landscape than a historical painter, has peopled In
admirable canvases with purely episodic figures ; Decamps has often only seen in
24 ///■/ \ND WORKS Of II IV I u>\ G&RdMZ.
his Turks. his Zeibecks, and Ins ^.rnauts, a brillianl or somber spot to be brought
into reliel againsl the chalky masonry ol a white wall, although he proved by his
Supplice des Crochets, and his Bazar </<■ Smyrne, that he was able to reproduce
Oriental types in ill theii purity. Delacroix expressed, with rare power, the
African character, but sought rather for color and movement than for lineament
in Nature. Theodore Chasseriau, who seemed endowed with a mysterious in-
stinct in painting exotic races, saw only French Xfrica, and, better than anyone
else had done, he depicted the narrow, oval face ; the languishing, parted lips ; the
melancholy black eyes, shadowed b) long, painted lashes; the delicate nose with
sensitive nostrils, the round arms and dainty hands, the statuesque limbs and
fee! the voluptuous attitude, and all the rhythm ol the bodies swaying beneath
strange, floating draperies.
" His Jewish Women <>l I onstantine astonished one like a dream ; In- would
doubtless have penetrated farther into the land of the sun, it Death had
tiol suddenlj covered him with its shadow, lor In- cherished the longing
and desire to see these beautiful countries, as it they had been an a1
Fatherland.
" Gerome has made the pilgrimage dreamed oi by Theodore Chasseriau. He
has seen Cairo, thai capital ol the Bast, that city ol caliphs, where Saracen art
shone with such vivid brilliancy while the West was still plunged in uncouth
barbarity. He has roamed through the winding streets bordered by houses with
overhanging stones and latticed moucharabys, shaded by striped awnings or rush
in, lis, wiih here anil there a slender palm opening its leafy fan against the blue
ol heaven, or the minaret of some mosque stretching up. encircled by its brace-.
lets oi balconies. He has followed this crowd, composed of all the types ol the
Orient, from the \ral>ol noble race and the stern Wahahite. to the negro with
his bestial features; from the Arnaut. with the nose and eye oi the eagle, to the
placid fellah, with the face oi .in Egyptian sphinx; this crowd which sepa
under the lash oi the courbach before the horse ol the Bey, accompanied by Ins
sais. and which draws hack against the wall so as not to touch the wife of the
cadi, passing like a phantom in her domino of taffetas, with her lace covered by
a mask of black horse hair, and chiding the negress who carries a child in a red
tarbouch and jacket embroidered with gold,
" The young artist mpanied by several friends, has ascended the Nile in
one ol those cangues, whose commodious and picturesque installation mak
journey through Egypt a veritable pleasure-trip. Photography, carried to-day
to the perfection we all know, exempts artists from copying monuments and puh-
lii buildings b} its absolutely faithful proofs, to which a happy choice of a point
ol \ lew and moment Of ieprodueli.ui add a great value ol etleet. Therefi
was mil 10 this point thai Gerome directed his efforts ; his masterly studies as.,
punier of history, his talent as a draughtsman, refined, eli ict, and yet
lull oi style, a particular pereepii.ni, which we can well call ethnographic, and
which will become more and more necessary to the artist in this age ol un
and rapid locomotion, when every tribe on this planet will he visited, in whate\ ei
distant archipelago it maj conceal itself all this qualified him, better than any
GOLGOTHA
IT IS FINISHED
LIFE \ND WORKS iU-//l\ L&ON G&R6ME
\
other, tn represenl this simple detail which modern explorers of the Orienl have
neglected, till now, for landscape, public structures, and mere color- I mean, man !
"Ger6me has kindly permitted us to examine the contents of his portfolios,
and to Study, One by one, these pencil sketches, taken on the wing; rapid notes
gathered from real life, without preparation, without arrangement, without
system with genuine abandon and a charming familiarity. What pleasure to
surprise talent thus en dishabille! to he initiated into the impression of the artist
in the very moment of Nature's inspiration; into his thought, translated, 01
rathei crystallized, by several characters
in shorthand! We love dearly these
scribblings, — words, which later are
made into phrases m the pictures
finished at leisure.
" Besides, the slightest of
Gerflme's sketches are drawn
with a touch so firm, so pure,
so precise, and so finished
in their carelessness, that
one wonders what can
be added by further
labor !
"The artist trav-
eler has made numer-
ous pencil portrait-
studies of different
characteristic types .
there are fellahs.
Copts. Arabs, negroes
of mixed blood from
Sennaar and from
Kordofan, — so exactly
observed that they could be used in the anthropolt
drawn in so masterly a manner that they will make a success of any picture
in which they find a place.
"The fellahs and the Copts have not changed since the time of Moses : such
\'iu see them on the frescoes of the palaces or tombs of Amenoteph. of Toutmes.
and of Sesourlasen such are t hey to-day. We find always the large, Hat face,
with the rounded cheek-bone-,, which seems to have retained, like the Sphinx, the
Dial k ot the blow of Cambyses ; the strange eyes, with the outer angle raised and
accented by a touch of antimony; the slightly Hat nose, making a defective
profile; a mouth like an enormous cage, while on the sensual folds of the
lips rests a mingled grimace and smile, which imparts an indefinable expression
unknown in Europe. The chachias and burnous which envelop these strange
physiognomies, cause- them to resemble mummies partly unswathed, and with
the face uncovered.
\
jical treatises ol M. Series,
26 LIFE AND WORKS Oi II I \ LEOA GERdMi.
" The Arabs are distinguished by the nose, an eye like a bird of prey, the more
Caucasian structure oi the head, and the openness oi the facial angle ; the negroes,
in their gaze oi animal placidity or childish heedlessness, scarcely betraj an
intelligence as opaque as their skin is dark , their Bat nostrils and thick mouths
can inhale with impunity the flaming blast oi the desert, even when laden with
the imperceptible dust raised by the kkamsinn.
"Several women, persuaded l>\ a bacchich, timidly lifl then veils and display
a sleepy, mournful beauty, of the phantom-like order peculiar to the women ol
the East
•The camel thai strange animal who seems, with the elephant, the rhi-
noceros, the hippopotamus, the giraffe, and the ostrich, to have survived the
greal forty-da) deluge, and to have remained upon the earth as a specimen oi
the monstrous zoological furniture of the primitive world has been studied by
our traveler from all sides, its behavior, its fore-shortening, its attitudes when on
the march or in repose, kneeling, ruminating, dreaming, licking its chops, show-
ing its teeth, stretching out on the ground its enormous neck, or fanning, with
its long lids, an eve as soft as that oi a woman, the only beauty of this antedi-
luvian deformity, The artist has reproduced with extraordinary care the humps
and callous hide, the awkward dislocations and warpings, so to speak, of this
fantastic animal, as well as the unexpected silhouettes traced by this irregular
bundle Oi hones on the white sand or the blue sky. In these sketches one
can distinguish perfectly between the heavy pack-camel and the slender mahari,
which is to the former what the English thoroughbred is to a common dray
horse.
"We should never finish were we to describe the infinite number of details
gathered together on these loose sheets. Great undulations of ground, clusters of
date trees, masses of doum palms, saqqhyehs whose wheel raises and tells the little
rosar) oi pots; cafes, okkels, camping-grounds, corners oi pyramids; the broken
profile of the Sphinx, vases oi antique contours, doors of mosques -everything
thai the chance of travel offers that is new and interesting to an eve that
knows how to sec. a hand that knows how to reproduce.
" Among the sketches in colors, we notice three which arc to be finished
for the coming Exposition [of 1857].
'The fust represents the two colossi of Medinet-Abou, rising from the midst
of the plain at the foot of a mountain which they fairly dwarf. Never has ancient
Egypt, with its frenzy of genius for the creation of enormities, cast a more
tremendous defiance in the face ot Time ; should the shoulders of this planet
quiver in an earthquake, she might succeed, perhaps, by dint of repeated shakings,
in cracking the granite epidermis of the giants she upholds, but she could
never overturn them. [*he last cataclysm of the world will find them in the same
Spot, corroded, exhausted, wrinkled, disfigured, but always immovably seated in
that everlasting and impassible pose the open hands resting upon the stony
knees the rugged heads, sculptured by thunderbolts, turned toward the infinite.
" Behind these colossi, or rather these mountains in human form, a sterile
ridge powdered and baked for 60OO years under a burning sun -throws
LIFE AND WORKS OF JEAN //a>\ t./'.A 27
.1 cades of light from its rugged steeps over its blue crevasses; the heaven
stretches out its cloth of indigo, covered with a film ol warm, sandy mist. At the
fool "i the stum monsters, one <>i which is the famous Memnon, whom the
ancients heard chanting the approach ot Aurora, and who was rendered forevei
voiceless by a reparation ordered by the Emperor Hadrian,- 111 the immense
shadow which they cast, a caravan has halted, seeking shelter from the intense
heat; a man. perched upon a camel, does not reach as high as the toes ol these
prodigious statues.
"The effect of this picture is most thrilling; the Orient is not here daubed
with mine de Saturne tints, in which it is too often painted; it has the subdued
light, the ardent pallor, the tones of iron al a white heal found in the real
countries of the sun.
"The second canvas shows a company of recruits marching in the desert. An
Arnaut. with his gun passed behind his neck like a stick, advances at the head
of this procession of unhappy creatures, who. with manacled wrists, coupled and
chained together like convicts, exhibit the most frightful despair : their feet kick
up the fine dust as they stumble alone;, their brains boiling and seething under a
devouring, implacable sun.
"On the shifting sand, white as pulverized sandstone, the spongy feet ot the
camels have left lar<je impressions ; the wind has traced, as if on the water.
capricious designs, effaced and renewed without ceasing ; it is almost as sad as
the Russian Soldiers, — amusing themselves at word of command ! so much
admired at the Universal Exposition.
"The third, and perhaps the mosl beautiful sketch of all, represents Arnauis
at prayer in a room whose walls have for their sole ornament a collection of guns ;
several persons are standing, with their feet close together and the palms "I
their hands turned up in an attitude of worship; on the border of a narrow
carpet, an old man with a white beard, Standing a little to the front, recites the
suras of the Koran, to which his companions listen with religious rapture. In the
foreground is a row of babouches, shoes or savates, a peculiarly Oriental detail
which the artist has had the boldness not to omit, and which does not in the leasl
disturb the gravity of the composition. A rising smile dies away at the sij^ht of
these types, so pure, so noble, so characteristic ; of these attitudes, so beautiful in
their simplicity ; of this assembly, which does so well what it does ! "
A tittinjj; continuation of these masterly pages is furnished by a fascinating
essay on "(jcrome and his Work." from the pen of Frederic Masson. one of the
most graceful and vivid writers of modern times. He jjives us an alluring
glimpse of the ideal life during Gerome's first sojourn in the land of the sun.
which we shall amplify when we describe in detail the artist's adventures during
this trip and subsequent ones through Upper Egypt, Arabia, and Syria.
"What the pen cannot describe |says Masson] is the loving sweetness of
these piercing eves, the look of resolution and virility which is the predominating
«8 /.///. m/< WORKS Of JEAA ifx\ /,/a
characteristic ol this physiognomy; the will to undertake and press onward
expressed by the whole personality. He would willingly have been one oi those
indefatigable explorers, who, endlessly journeying, risk their lives to see some-
thing new; one ol those who. to contemplate unknown stars, go to where the
eartb gives way under their feet. To seek, to attempt, to undertake, this is what
is necessary to their existence not to dream/ Their intellects, exacl and keen.
demand tacts. no1 phrases. A search for the truth is Gerfime's uninterrupted
occupation. It is this conscientiousness in research which binds together all his
work. It is the same when he reorganizi thi sports oi ancienl Rome; when
be represents the dramas oi modern history; when he depicts the life ol the
Orient, and, finally, when, in the midsl of these landscapes he knows so well, he
places somrnath.ii.il figure, such as Bonaparte, whose strange physiognomy and
frame, almost ascetic in their meagerness, he delights to render, at the moment
when ' his imperial star arises in the East !'
"To resl himseli aftei immense efforts, Gerdme started for Egypt, It was
the first ol those voyages which have exercised so keen an influence on the
painter, and winch, leading him by the picturesque toward the modern, have
enabled him to reproduce, in so inimitable a manner, the scenes and chat
oi thai Orienl which is being each day more and more encroached upon l>\
European customs and manners,
" Ger6me seems horn for these distant voyages to which one musl bring vigoi
ol body and decision oi mind. Always up. always alert and indefatigable, be
commands the caravan with an authority which no one contests. The first to
rise m the morning, lie superintends the departure ; then, erect in his saddle, he
keeps going through the long hours, smoking, hunting, tracing with rapid stroke
in his sketch-1 k a movement or a silhouette. Scarcely arrived at camp.
behold him commencing a study neither rain nor wind having the power to
move him from his camp-stool. Then, the palette c.iieiulh « iped and the brushes
thoroughly cleaned, what a delightful companion at the table under the tent:
Whal animation, what good-humored appreciation of the nonsense oi the
younger ones ; what frank gayety and willing remembrance oi former jesting.
And through this Gallic humor, winch has its flavoi ol the soil, this wit peculiar
io the cotnte where he was born, how one perceives the man oi high intellectual
culture, who has read much, and who knows how to read ' Who. lor ins, intimate
friend and souls companion, has chosen that other joyous spirit, the immortal
author oi "La Cigue " and the "Effrontes" EmileAugier!
" It was no play to visit Egypt in [856. It is true thai one did not then meet
those hordes oi tourists who spoil the landscape and disfigure the monu-
ments' Ancient Egypt was still iisell after the convention of Alexandria;
I old soldiers of the empire alone represented the European element.
Reform had not vet got the better oi old manners nor oi ancient customs. The
fellah, ill the rigidity of his attitudes, preserved the hieratic aspect of statues ol
basalt. The Nile, where si lamboats wen unknown, was enlivened by whole
nations of birds so tame that they were scarcely disturbed by the slow
oi the light boats (cangues). The river lull ol fish, the hanks stocked
UFl l.\n WORKS Of II ■ l.\ l&ON G&RdMl ;, i
with game, perpetually changing scenery, brightened by the vivid coloring of the
inhabitants, over all a delicious blue sky. and four gay companions, loving with
.in equal love painting, hunting, and fishing what a joyous existence ! And bow
easy to picture Gerdme living thus for lour months, going by easy stages from
Damietta to Philas. Then coming hack to Cairo and installing himself in a
palace, cordially placed at the disposition ot the travelers by that glorious
Soliman Pacha whose incredible romance has lately been described in a charm-
ing volume. There were tour months more of Study and labor, from which
resulted those pictures that, in the work of Ceroinc, best reproduce the vivid
impressions of the things lie has seen."
Another great critic ami traveler, one of the most eminent of French Orient-
alists, the distinguished Maximc Du Camp, writes ot these Oriental silhouettes:
"just as Meissonier is able to portray an entire epoch in one figure, so M.
Gerflme is expert in particularizing a certain race in a single person, especiall} in
miniature, for his painting, which is almost too delicate tor a large composition,
becomes more exact and elaborate in proportion as his canvas is limited. He.
himself, an intrepid traveler, of a keen, vigorous temperament ; an impression-
able character ; a penetrating intellect ; circumspect, delicate, and quick to seize
points on the wing — has the air of a palikare, and one is quite surprised that he
does not wear the Greek Cap and fustanelle. No one has gone farther than he m
bis observation of the appearance, the manners, and customs of the Egyptians of
Cairo, the Jews of Palestine, the Russians ot the Crimea, and the modern Creeks.
He has studied them with a rare acuteness and conscientiousness, and while
examining into the smallest details, he lias not failed to grasp the essential
features of the Oriental races.
" One can perhaps object that M. Ceromc's touch is a little dry. and his color-
ing often too sharp; hut when Time shall have laid its powerful patine on his
canvases, they will be harmonized into soft and deep tones. And what is more.
they will have the very appreciable advantage of not losing in <rrowin^ old, for
they are finished in the highest possible degree."
We may here pause to consider a point which has been much harped on by a
certain class of critics, who. for the most part, are theoretically and practically
ignorant of the A H C of the art they attempt to criticise, and distinguish
themselves only by a blind adhesion to certain doctrines promulgated by a certain
would-be school of art. These oracles affect to deny Cicronie the title ol great
artist, OH the score that he is not what they understand as a "colorist."
We are not desirous of entering into a controversy on this point. " Chacun a
son goiit," says the old proverb, and. as ('■erbme very quietly remarked in his early
youth, " the public will be the judge."
Real art-lovers have sufficiently shown their appreciation by securing his
masterpieces often while still mere sketches on the easel, and disputing eagerly
I II I l\l< WORKS .'/ // M I l.o\ G&ROMI
the possession of those which have several times changed hands al public sale.
Time, thai supreme judge, has proven the intrinsic and ever-increasing value oi
his art, based on true and noble methods. We cannol refrain, however, from
quoting one or two authorities, whose lucid and trenchanl opinions on this vexed
question of "What constitutesa great a.rtis\ 'are well worth our attention. Says
Bergerat, in the able treatise before cited :
"It the name id painter, and the reputation of beingagood painter, is to be
appropriated only by workers in color, and it a pumpkin well represented ought,
in public estimation, to equal in value the School oi Athens, ol Raphael, we
must renounce serious consideration of
this manifestation of human genius, and
criticism inevitably becomes sterile and
objectless. To be sure, naturalism is .1
tine achievement of modern intelligence,
and I am one of the first to glorify the
gOOd resulting therefrom , bill it i^ not,
and never will be, in art. anything save
the adjective power ol talent, oi which the
fundamental power is the idea.
" Now, the wind ' idea' comprises also
its culture, and the
culture o! the idea
is science, or what is
' — '^*«l otherwise known as
■■ acquirements. I be-
lieve no more in the
ignorance of genius
than I do in the
inconscienci ol beauty. The gifl is nothing if it ends only in promises and
hopes, tor Nature rebels against inaction oi forces, and the most fertile
ground grows fallow and sterile, even in the lull sunlight, if it is not plowed
ii]) and sown. II any one declines to admil that the Operation of the intelli-
gence by which a man succeeds m conceiving .md realizing a grand ethnographic
scene, such, tor example, as the /'>>//> i- ol a superior intellectual
order to thai which impels M. Yollon to choose a motif from Still life, one
mighl as well declare that a beediive, the construction of which is admirable,
is as admirable as St. Peter's at Rome. As well give instinct the precedence
over intelligence ; as well proclaim the public inutility of those conservatories
ol tin beautiful called libraries and museums.
"Further, those who are endowed with a sensibility of the retina, as
cceptional as it is unconscious, act mosl thoughtlessly in endeavoring to
confine the art of painting to the reproduction of the physical phenomena ot
lights and colors. Their presumptuous theories have produced impressionism
LIFE AND WORKS Oh fEAN LEON GERdAfE ^
and tachism(oj blotching). Musi we then conclude thai man, nude or clothed
in brilliant stuffs, is, in reality, onl) a dab <>i color, whose form confounds itself
with the atmosphere ? Whal becomes then of the expressive power of painting?
To what sense does its eloquence appeal, and in what terms does this language,
stripped ot its alphabet and its style, speak to the human intelligence? Gerdme
must have asked himself all this, when the critics have adjudged him guilty ol a
Crime in not being specially born what they are pleased to style a colorist. He
must have thought that the art he practiced must be the lowest of all the arts, if
one is not to include the qualities ol observation, picturesque design, and compo-
sition in making a picture. Here, indeed, lies his natural superiority: not a
painter of the present age can compose a picture as well as he -the gri
among them not excepted. GerOme has the sentiment oi unit) and order ; with
him tin' scene is always complete and complete^ treated each item is placed
on its own plane of interest and co-operates proportionately to the general effect
of tin so ne to which it contributes.
A -real and rare quality, with which poets are generally more liberal^
endowed than painters, and which, under the name of gout (an expression inade-
quately rendered in English by the word taste), remains the dominant quality of
the Latin race. Education does not suffice to give it. whatever one may think, and
I do not see wherein it is so common and inferior to the gifl of color ' We must
take care not to go astray, nor to lead the public astray , ■> bit ot good painting is
not necessarily a picture ; one has not made a poem because one bas written a
fragment. Those who rebel the most against the teaching of the £cole are
perhaps not capable of treating intelligently a single one ot I be subjects submitted
to lis artists in the competitive examination. Now, it seems to me thai to be
incapable of a thing proves one to be infenoi to those who an capable of it.
Perhaps there exists a tachiste who has conceived in the depths of his soul a com-
position superior to the Po llice I erso, but this tachiste has not yet revealed himself,
"i'is a hard task to make a picture, as it is a difficult affair to make a book '
This is only too true, Heroine has signed a vast number of canvases which
merit the name of picture a title formerly imposing, and which was not lavished,
as it is to-day, on the merest daubs of venturesome colorists '
'l"he correctness of Bergerat's analysis and judgment must be acknowledged
by all thoughtful students and practical artists. The same ideas are ably set forth
m a volumi devoted to "Art ami \ilisls" b\ the well-known painter and critic.
Charles Timbal. In a charming preface to this series ol essays, written by the
Vicomte Henri Delaborde, perpetual secretary o1 the Vcademyoi Fine Arts al
Paris, we find Timbal described as a "painter familiarized with all the secrets
ol practical art. and a connoisseur in the best sense ot the term."
In his study on (icronie, Timbal says:
" It is the custom to plat e each artist in a camp where he will be, according to
his valor or to chance, the standard-bearer or a simple soldier. Some, whether
34 //// M/< WORKS (>/■ li M 1 1<>\ i.i/:, nu
they desire or resist, will belong to a group of colorists others will be ranged
among the draughtsmen. To speak truly, Gerdme cannol be confined to >.-ii her
ui these classifications; without being one oi those who, by temperamenl and
withoul effort, multiplj the vibrations, varieties, and harmonies oi tones, he sees
things as they are, and shows himseli a colorisl in his own manner; and his brush,
in rendering a modified reflection oi the exterior brilliancy of things, does not in
the leasl alter the rigorous reality. Lei one examine withoul prejudice any one ol
his small canvases : those where he makes the waves to shimmer in the twilight,
or this other, flooded l>\ the midda} sun, a street in Cairo in the shadow oi its
high walls, or the circus, sheltered l>\ the purple velarium, the torso oi Cleopatra
or the Almee, and the gladiatoi in the arena, wiping of] his bloody sweat ; the
professional man, remembering his own studies, will readily recognize the truth
oi these reproductions, and also the teachings oi nature and of light.
Although Gerdme has to-daj attained the momenl oi life in which the artist
to have nothing to demand oi the gods save to preserve intact the gifts hi
has received from them, he has not passed the age oi progress Those
who have examined, with clear perceptions, the later works he has produced,
have observed withoul difficulty the broadening oi his manner the firmness
oi his touch from the first, and the new richness of his fidte. The artist marches
abreast oi the taste oi to-day, bul in the measure oi his personal taste. The
inventor needed not to show himself more ingenious; the painter has become
more of a painter ! . . . . Ilow man} masterpieces, applauded yesterday for their
powerful effects, their novelty, and the richness oi their contrasts, have b
gloom] canvases, from winch all the beauty has disappeared owing to
the inexperience of the artists. The pictures oi Gerdme, painted with a discreet
and prudent hand, have little to fear from the effects oi time, and they will
bl} present themselves to the judgment of the future in all the freshness
oi their original creation, when of rival works there will remain but a blackened
image, exhausted and compromising."
Hut Gerdme is as little disturbed by the clamor of the hostile camps of which
Timlial speaks, as he is unspoiled by the adniiiat ion oi zealous followers. We
have in our possession a letter from his intimate friend, the late lamented Emile
Augier, to his other beloved companion. Alfred AragO, the mere mention ol
whose names calls up recollection-, ol talents which are the pride and |o\ not only
ol the in 1 1 in, 1 and choice circle ol which they w ere the center, and lo which
is still fortunately spared, hut ol the glorious company oi illustrious artists and
litterateurs who congregate in that modern center of art life Paris.
In this letter, sparkling with wit and caustic observation, we find the follow-
ing graphic note on Gerdme, and his relation to /</ critique;
\ special characteristic of Gerdme [says Augier] is his profound indiffer-
ence to the railings id' the journals. He pursues a very good system to avoid
I.L-ino irritated by them he does not read them ' And if he sees a friend wax
LIFE I YD WORKS OF JEAN LEON GERdME, 35
furious under harsh criticism, he tranquillizes him by thai celebrated mot of an
amiable actress: ' li gives them so much pleasure and M costs me so little!'"
We must ni)i conclude, however, thai the artisl considers himself beyond
criticism ; on the contrary, no one has more frankly or freely desired the opinions
ol his fellow-workers, few of whom have approximated the unsparing severity
we find in his self-criticism, among the autobiographical notes which we shall
transcribe in full, Of the honesl and impartial judgmenl displayed in these
simple yet eloquent records of his life, Bergeral writes:
'• Do you know many artists endowed nol only with enough mind and
character, bul sufficient talenl to write <>i themselves hues such as these? For
my pari I know nothing more noble than this model confession, which has
deeply moved me and inspired me with undying respeei for the Master."
This spirit oi stricl sell criticism, amounting almosl to austerity, was a
marked trait, even in early youth, as evinced by an episode of his firsl year 111
Rome. He was painting, in the Forum, that superb landscape which stretches
awaj from the Capitol, beyond the nuns oi the Coliseum, .across the Campagna
to the loot oi the distanl mountains, The study was finished in an incredibly
short space ol lime, and in a manner that evoked unanimous praise from his
master and fellow-students, lint Ge'rflme, distrusting so easj a triumph, and
saying to himself. "What has been done so quickly cannot be worth much!"
deliberately scraped the day's labor from the canvas and repainted the scene
with greater care.
This little anecdote reveals the quality of the artist, who. while professional
critics are occupied with their discussions as to the respective merits of the
various methods oi seeing and reflecting nature, steadily pursues his way toward
his ideal ; his mind wholly concentrated upon his work, his motto, like thai oi
Apelles, being Nulla dies sine linea, he labors on tranquilly, conscientiously, and
confidently, yearl) adding to a lengthy lisl oi masterpieces, which betray new
depths and beauties of conception and execution, and imparl additional luster to
an already imperishable tame.
As lone, ago as [860, DcTanouarn wrote
" What t'lcrdme has achieved up to the present moment is hut the preface of
a beautiful book. We await the volume, but if, contrary to all expectation, it
does not come, the preface itself will count as a book'"
What would he think could he reunite and contemplate the achievements ol
more than forty years of anient, unceasing toil ' How choose among the gems in
this dazzling riviereoi jewels collected from the most precious mines of the old
World ! Let us yield ourselves to the sway of this potent magician, who trans-
36 /.//■/ AND WORKS 0/ // M llo\ G&RdML
ports us by a wave of his powerful hand from idyllic Greece to the brilliant courts
ol France; from the crowded Coliseum ol Ancient Rome to the solitude and
desolation oi the Arabian desert, and back to the glowing tulip gardens ol
Holland; from sunny Spain, where everyday is holiday, and a skillful toreador
i ai i [aimed by a joyous populace " King oi the feast," to the melancholy hanks
ol I he Danube, where, under the crushing despotism of Russia, even "recreation
in camp" is rigidl} enforced, and the sting ol the knout compels the son- thai is
often strangled b) asob; from the thronged and picturesque streets of Cain, to
the isolated fastnesses oi the Convenl ol Sinai, with a glimpse ol the awful
dy of the Hill oi Cah ary I
tie unites us to walk with Dante on lb, hanks id the Arno, or watch Rem-
brandt bending over his etching plate; to listen with cynical Voltaire to the royal
llulc-plavcr ol Sans Souci, 01 enjoy the discomliture of cardinal ami courtier al
the break last table, when- the playwright is the equal of the king; to follow
Bramanl and young Raphael into the Sistine Chapel, whither they have stolen to
see the immortal frescoes in the absence ol the master, or to join Diogenes in his
search lor an honest man !
Now he guides us into the wilderness, and shows us the encampment ol the
French Legions in the desert. The cloudless blue of the sky, scintillating with
heat, is softened toward the horizon by smokj vapors, through which mountains
lintly outlined. Over the sandy plains masses ol troops march and counter-
march, so far away that clash of saber and blare oi trumpet do not disturb the
profound silence that envelops, as with a mantle, the majestic figure which
dominates the scene Preserving, in spite ol mutilation, a marvelous expression
of grandeur and repose, the Sphinx rears its massive head, and regards, with a
calmness horn of absolute knowledge, the vain struggles ol a pygmy world. The
lcs-cr Sphinx, on horseback, himself an incarnation ol will and force, mutely
demands oi the Oracle the secret oi his future. In vain The steady gaze
passes over even his head: on on doubtless beholding the snowy steppes ol
Russia, reddened with blood and the light of conflagration ; the wounded eagle,
trailing his broken wings over the field of Waterloo : a lonely rock, at whose base
the sea makes incessant moan ! There is no warning, no si^n ' Kismet !
Again, the wilderness the master loves so well. How like and yet how
unlike' Here is the low-lying C0as1 ol Africa, with drifts of finest sand blown
by the breath ol the khamsinn into fantastic mounds, from which peep a tew
scorched and scanty tufts of herbage and the ragged edges of brown, barren rocks.
Motionless, as it hewn from the rock on which he sits, a taw n\ --mancd monarch
of the desert, with proud, unflinching gaze, steadily regards the dazzling splendor
ol the setting sun. which is sinking slowly to the horizon, its flaming tints mir-
rored in the glassy surface Ol the Mediterranean What weird and potent charm
CEDIPUS
BONAPARTE BEFORE THE SPHINX
188G
LIFE AND WORKS o/ JEAN LEON GERdMl 37
is here! What stillness, solitude, vastness ! And in the majestic figure oi the
royal beast what condensed life and power ! Weare forcibly reminded oi a brief
l)ui graphic description of the artisl himself, Iron, an article by M. de Belina,
which appeared lately in a Paris Art publication.
"A superb bead with mane tossed back, a lion who paints other lions and
one scarcely knows which has the prouder glance, the painter or his model!"
What true lovei oi arl does nol wish to know more oi the artist than can be
divined even from creations so eloquenl as these' Who would not eagerly seize
the opportunity to stand face to face with so rare a personality and grasp the hand
whose touch is more potent than that of Midas' Thanks to a generosity niih to
be met with in truly great natures, the humblest student is always sure of a
court eons welcome to the master's ateliers. \ genuine love foi art is the " < (pi n !
Sesame." before which the lica\ \ oaken doors that bar the entrance to thc/V/A-
<<>(//</-. .it his spacious hotel on the Boulevard de Clichy swing back, revealing a
cool. Bagged court, with a background of green ivy, which clambers luxuriantly
over the hi<^h wall at the bottom of the yard. Several line hunting-dogs lie in the
kennels, and spirited horses neigh and Stamp in the adjacent stables, for tin,. me is
a passionate lover Oi animals, an accomplished horseman and ardent sportsman,
who fears neither wind nor weather. " llcau cavalier, chasseur adroit," says
Claretie of him.
,v s //// IM> WORKS <>! II M L&OA i.I.Ni'MI
Glass doors, hung with soft Persian stuffs, lead into the antechamber on the
rez-de-chaussie, which is guarded by a bronze horse and cavalier, one oi th< i ah
works "i I remiet, the greal sculptor,
The sunlight filters through a stained-glass window and falls with kaleido-
scopic effeel on Minon, a large Persian cat, who has often served as model to her
master, and who, rousing from her siesta on a long, enameled casket, which con-
tains a costly narghileh, la/.ilv opens one eye and Minks an amiable /ion/our.
Rare curios from foreign lands are scattered here, as throughout the whole man-
sion, with lavish hand, but the attention is instantly caught and fixed by an
exquisite figure in the whitesl oi Carrara marble. It is his wonderful Omphale,
which, in the Salon of 1887, was the center of attraction in the garden oi the
Palais de 1' Industrie.
Pure, pensive, passionate the perfection oi form and expression— she leans,
m the attitude oi the Farnese Hercules, upon the club oi thai vanquished hero,
« ho has succumbed to the power oi the tiny God oi Lo\ e almost hidden under the
folds oi the 1. 1 11 ions 1 ion skm On the lips oi the beautiful Queen oi Lydia rests
an expression oi mingled triumph and longing, as il she were not quite sure of
her power to retain her captive lover.
Near the windows thai ironi on the Boulevard are Gerflme's two superb grey-
hounds, modeled in red claj bj himself, in affectionate remembrance of his faith-
ful companions now gone to the happy hunting-grounds." They also frequently
posed, and are to be found in several well-known pictures, among others, in The
Sentinels of the Camp and ///, Return Iron: the t hase,
llatneiton sa\s ; I would rather have a leash ot hounds by Gerome than by
am other painter 1 know ."
A massive eobra. with red. shining scales, coils itself into the newel-posl
oi the heavy balustrade which guards the marble staircase. A Salve in blue
faience is sunk in the carved woodwork, and the walls oi polished marble
are covered with priceless Japanese bronzes, masks, and plaques, up to the
fourth Story, which is reserved l>\ Gerflme tor his studios and private
apartments.
Every footfall is deadened by the thick Turkish carpet, anil the soft cooing oi
.1 dove, that is nestling in the v ines which shelter the hall -open window on the top
landing, seems only to accentuate the stillness in the large atelier, the dooi oi
which usually stands ajai
Following hard on the whir of the electric hell eomes a cheery " Unties .' in
.1 voict which, once heard, is never forgotten. The master stands before an easel,
looking inquiringly toward the door; but palette and brushes are instantly laid
aside as he recognizes old friends and advances with both hands cordially
extended. The salutation is brief, hut the intonation dispels at once all fi
LIFE I ND WORKS <>/■// I \ //<M t,f!, 39
intrusion, and courteously waved to a Beal on the wide divan, ample opportunity
is afforded to study h grand peintre a1 home.
An oval face, crowned with a prolusion oi tine, shown- hair, brushed well back
and up from the noble forehead ; heavy, black eyebrows, overshadowing deep-sel
brown eyes, whose glance, sometimes clear and piercing, searches the soul, or half
veiled by long lashes warm, dreamy, mysterious seems to behold things ot
bi tuty far beyond all common powers oi vision, An aquiline nose, with nostrils
slightly curved and dilated, giving him a strikingly valiant air, A sweeping mus-
tache, now jusl touched with gray, partly conceals the melancholy droop oi thin
vet ruddy lips, whose almost feminine sensitiveness is relieved by the lirmness ol
the 1 bin and the superb, antique contour ot throal and neck, at once strong and
delii, ite. This admirable head well surmounts an erect military figure, whose
everv movement, however, betrays a grace doubtless inherent in this temperament
<ln Midi, the mother ot Gerdme having been a thoroughly Spanish type. For
although the province which proudly claims the master as its own has been part
and parcel ot France since the time ol l.oms Quatorze, it was originally settled by
the Spaniards and remained lor a Ion;; time under their dominion.
As we chat, .1 charming model, artistically draped in Oriental robes, comes
from the inner atelier where she has been posing, and comfortably bestows herself
in a great armchair, one snowy loot, hall thrust into a ha ho in In- ol red morocco.
swinging carelessly to and fro. Unmindful ol our undisguised admiration, she
falls to examining her taper finger nails, now and then glancing shyly at the
clock, as il wishing us away. Finally, weary of following the conversation, she
drop-- into .1 lighl slumber. sinilnvj, as she dreams, ami disclosing a double row ol
pearl) teeth.
Walking up and down his spacious ateliers, where he has assembled the
11, h. ,1 and rarest accessories ol his me'tier, the master discourses ol his art with an
eloquence and ardor which reveal the source oi the magic power he exercises
all who come in contact with him. We listen, at once charmed and
tantalized, tor it is well-nigh as impossible to remember this impromptu lecture,
ibis marvel of criticism, comparison, and instruction, as it would be to reproduce
the energetic, Sparkling, vivid manner oi delivery.
" You permit me to smoke?"
Answering our hasty gesture of assent with a smile, he proceeds to till his pipe,
and, lighting a match, resumes his walk and his talk, till his fingers are tunned.
With a good-humored "Pestel" he lights another, which ea>es the way of the
preceding one, this time absolutely unheeded, so profoundly is the orator lost in
In-, argument. We wait tor a pause and then, softly, so as not to disturb his
tram ol thought :
•• But you do not smoke. Monsieur i "
40 LIFE AND WORKS 01 Jl tA LEOA GERdMl
"Ah, no! thai is true! It is a halm ! I have always smoked more matches
i nan tobcu .<>.'"
The pipe still nnlighted, be lakes up his discourse in a differenl vein, keenly
satirical but always good-natured, in which one detects nol only the man of the
world but the philosopher and sage. An acute sense of humor produces often the
mosl contagious gayety, but there is always a strong undercurrent oi melan-
choly, profound, even somber; intensified in later years l>v the loss of many
oi his dearest friends, among others EmiL Augier, and the painters Gustave
Boulanger and Alexandre Protais, to whom he was deeply attached. A most
indefatigable worker, and sought after in society as few nun ol his epoch have
been, Gerome siill always finds time for Ins friends, especially such as are sick
and suffering, Protais often spoke oi his devotion as something unequaled, and
surprising in a man who had innumerable claims on Ins attention and who has
sometimes been mistakenly judged to be cold, reserved, and exclusive. In truth.
for months before the death ol Protais, Gerome, though himself weakened by
illness, made a daily visil in all kinds ol weather, before nine o'clock in the
morning, to the quid apartment where the great military painter was closely
confined 1>\ an incurable and distressing malady oi the heart cheering the
invalid by his sympathy, and diverting him by his ever ready and genial wit.
During several ol these briel morning calls he .succeeded in sketching the
patient sufferer, and has thus preserved to the world a striking likeness ol the
great artist, whose character was ideal in its nobility, integrity, and unflinching
self-sacrifice. t»i his death, which occurred in February,
"It lias affected me more deeply than I dare avow even to in-
As is his wont, he seeks solace Irom this and other irremediable sorrows in
unceasing application to his work, putting into it all the force oi the emotions
thai are driven hack upon themselves by an irresistible destiny.
That time has not needed lo alter, hut only added new depth and intensit] to
his noble nature, may he seen from the following pencil-sketch taken in the year
[860 :
•• It suffices [says de Tanouam] merely to glance at the portrait of Gerdme,
such as he is represented to-day, to form a sufficiently exact idea ol the character
of this artist. It is an energetic and vigorous nature, endowed with a marvelous
will-power and an indefatigable activity. Gerdme is improvisation and action
incarnate. He conceives and executes quickly ; he writes and walks quickly ; he
eals quickly, and his comrades in the atelier declare that he sleeps quickly ! Here
is no wastefulness, no lounging, no indulgence nor compromise with idli
tds abreasl several works at a time, without mingling or confounding
anything, like the young Morphy, who plays eight games ol chess at a time
without making an error. To rest himself, Gerome only changes occupation,
passing from one work to the other
i ii i iuii ah
/..'// IM< WORKS 0/ II -i \ iio\ ,,i:i;o\n 43
"He is nol m the habit, however, oi ignoring those laws ol etiquette 01
politeness, from the observance oi which the mosl exacting society very willingly
exempts artists and poets; he never forgets to return .1 visit nor to reply to a
letter, bul his painting loses nothing in consequence. He has traveled much, and
ii has nol prevented him from producing much. In a word, il would seem thai for
him the hours multiply and lengthen themselves, while for others they vanish,
while the} are occupied in reflecting how they will employ them/ ....
Ihs atelier is situated in Notre Dame des Champs, in a son oi aristocratii
hive where other painters have lodged themselves. Everything reveals the
spiril oi ordei and regularity oi the master. One observes a noble and severe
simplicity . some bits oi armor, some curiosities broughl back from Ins travels
bul few pictures yel no ornament foreign to art. It is here that G6rdme works.
while chatting with his visitors, having Ins model posed a1 .1 great distance, foi he
is extraordinaril} far-sighted. I lis conversation is animated, inspiring, spirituelle,
and gay. He banters g l-naturedly without ever wounding. \s he is ver}
learned, he touches with easi ill topics and seems a stranger to none; he
captivates the attention withoul difficulty and retains it without an effort
" By the superiority of his mind and the penetrating firmness oi his character,
1 11 -mine exercises a greal lilllnenee over the persons who live near to him. lie
becomes naturall} a center, around which less powerful individualities group
themselves. He will be soonei 01 later, the head oi a school, il in the present
state ol art sneh a thing is still possible
"In his college days he was tin- organizer and the soul of all the sports.
While with Paul Delaroche, when all the pupils agreed to work together in tin
evenings Gerome's little chamber was always chosen as the place oi reunion. In
1848, when the pupils oi the Ecole des Beaux-Arts had to elect .1 captain 0! the
-tali, ih, 11 choice tell on tieiome, who acquitted himseli oi tin- duties confided to
him in tine military fashion ; lor he delights, and is very skillful, in all bodih
exercises, above all in hunting. Hi nevei tails to paj a yearl} visit to his
and 10 devote himseli to his favorite sport with the activity and enjoy-
ment characteristic of him t'.cromc's reception ol any one, although at
Inst a trifle reserved, is oi -^ exquisite kindness; Ins manners are admirably
distinguished, ami he would be a model oi a perfeel gentleman tor Englishmen.
His wit is sometimes a little sharp, hut Ins comrades lioasl of his kindness and
generosity, and his readiness lor every servici he can possibly render, whether
obej ing the instincts of his heart or following the inspirations oi a superior mind,
which would deem iiselt wanting m sell-respect in not acting on ever} occasion
with absolute nobility.
"Such is the matt whose character we have sketched He is WOrthj as,, ik
oi the <//-//■,/. there does not exist here one oi those distressing contrasts
which arc the jo} and triumph oi vulgar and vicious mediocrity."
This of the man ol thirty -six I Twenty-four years later. Claretie writes
"t'.erome is sixtv years old' One can scarcely believe thai he has passed
forty.' He still retains In- intrepid look ol an Arnaut. Physically and morally
1 1
///■/■ l\/> WORKS Of // l\ LBOA GERdMt
he is uprighl and inflexible a fascinating type of an artist, chivalric and reso-
lute G6r6me remains at sixty what he was at thirty-six; as young, as
vigorous, as active, as responsive, vivid, and sympathetic. A charming conver-
sationalist, gay, pensive also underneath his exquisite humor, respectful oi his
art, frank and loyal, adored by his pupils, a professor who teaches the young tin-
rare and oft-neglected virtues simplicity, study, and unre-
mitting labor, In a word, a noble example oi a master-painter
oi the nineteenth century the son! of an artist with the
constitution oi a soldier; a heart oi gold in a body of iron''
The same precious testimony is borne by Masson, whom
we have before < ited, I le says :
"G6rome's work, already immense, and which his robust
health will permit him to augment tor a long time, very
diverse in its expression, i- one, in its sincerity, its continual
research, its passion lor the truth. This preoccupation
is evident in all his representations of antique li
well as in the subjects drawn from the Orient One oi
the leu defenders to-day oi high art. he has exercised
over modern painting a grand influence. An entire
school has sprung from his exquisite and spiritual
pictures; an entirely distinct one. without avowing it.
from his greater compositions. G6r6me lias had in
our time imitators without number, but he has I
still greater number of pupils, oi everj shade of opinion
and artistic tendency, in whom he has inculcated his
passion for nature and lor truth.
At the Ecole des Beaux-Arts, by the liberality ot
his mind, the rectitude of his judgment, and the open-
ness and breadth oi his comprehension, he has rapidh
become the besi helmed, the most ardently followed, of all the masters. None
better than he. with his infinite goodness and delicacy, knows how to estimate
a work, to discover its qualities; in short, to evolve an artist. None performs
lii-- duties with more ot equity and conscientiousness; none has fewer prejudices
Or decisions made beforehand; none i> better Capablf ot doing justice to
Ins adversaries. The master quality oi I,, mi, i is everywhere and always.
sincerity. "
i
<
\\ e can well believe that the loving patience and infinite tact exercised by
this honored teacher and head oi the greatesi School oi Art of modern time-., is
deepened b\ his ever-preseni remembrance of the time when he. also, was a
student, struggling with the poverty, ill-health, and disappointment which are
often the portion oi those who consecrate themselves to the service oi that most
exacting, but most glorious mistress — Art!
LIFE l\/> WORKS Ol // l\ ii\o\ GEROAfI
45
Hence i1 is with peculiar interesl thai we turn hack to the beginning ol this
remarkable career and trace, step by step, the steady advance of the "infanl
prodigy oi Vesoul."
JuK-s Claretie, whose knowledge of men and things is as profound as his
writing oi them is inc parable, justly observes :
"That which interests us above all, in the life ol illustrious men, is their
origin, their debut, the first blossoming ol then talent. When an artist has
d himscli with glory, one writes his biography with the mere titles oi his
works."
We are fortunate, therefore, in hem- able to receive our impressions oi
Gerome's earlie I artistic life from himself. We shall, in translating his notes,
endeavor to retain, to as great a degree as possible, the picturesque simplicity
ol this brief but precious autobiography, of which Gerdme wril
" I send you the notes which I promised you, but tear you will not find them
sting My life has been, above all, a life ol work ol incessanl laboi eon
sequently monotonous for the public! 1 have had hut little to do with the
affairs of my time, except in regard to all that pertains to the Fine Arts. It i>
rather a collection ol dates, jotted down years ago, than biographical information
that I send you. lias it any value?"
In this simple, unaffected, candid record, where years ol patient study and
toil, physical privation and suffering, disappointment, deteal. and final triumph
are disposed oi in a single line, we tind the same indomitable spirit ol persever-
ance to which the master owes his present high position, the ardent aspiration
which still impels him onward and upward, the courage, conscientiousness,
integrity, and modesty which pervadl bis enure lite and work. Mark, too, the
sprightly humor with which he recalls his natal day. the nth of May. 1824:
•• To prevent seven cities from disputing in the future the honor of my birth-
place, I certify that I first saw the light oi day in Vesoul, a little, old Spanish citj
No miracle took place on the day of my birth, which is quite surprising! 'The
lightning did not even Bash in a clear sky! The century was then twentj foui
old. Rome and Sparta had been discarded like tattered and bloodstained
garments, and tin- French people reposed, like a bird, on the elder branch, which,
six years later, was to break under it. The Son of Saint Louis was already
tin- those famous ordonnances, which were to have so legitimate a
success.
11 I wa8 horn ol parents without fortune, living by their labor. My lather was
a goldsmith. He gave me the regulai collegiate education much Latin and
considerable Greek, hut no modern languages, which 1 have always regretted
for the little Italian I acquired later has been of enormous service to me in my
travels At the age oi sixteen I was Bacheloi oi Letters. I had had some
I" ////• AND WORKS OF I /■ I \ L&OA G&RdMl
success in the drawing-class, and my father, who wenl to Paris every yeai on
business, brought me, as a reward, a box of oil-colors and a picture bv Decamps,
which I copied fairly well; to the greal satisfaction, at least, of the persons
who surrounded me, who, lei us confess, were entirely ignoranl <>l artistu
matters ' "
Gerflme has alluded to the downfall of Charles X.. whose reactionar} policy
eventuall) provoked the revolution oi July, and finally culminated in his
dethronement. His briel reign was conspicuous not only for political agitation,
I'm for the open revolt in arl circles oi the romanticists against the iron tradi-
tions oi the then dominanl classicists. A protracted and bitter struggle between
the old and new methods resulted in the evolution ol the classic-romantic school.
oi which one oi the mosl noted leaders was Hippolyte (Paul) Delaroche, destined
to become the teacher and intimate friend oi the young Gerfime, who, at the
age oi ten years, was alread] making portraits oi Ins comrades and neighbors
whose naive and unqualified admiration fortunately did not awaken his vanity
nor render him less attentive to the instruction oi his firsl professor oi drawing
a pupil ol David and an artist oi considerable talent.
" B) a bapp3 fortune," says Ger6me, in his notes, "a childhood friend oi
Monsieur Paul Delaroche had just settled in my native city, He induced my
lather to send me to Paris, where I finally arrived with a letter oi introduction to
my future teacher I Delaroche). Like a sensible and prudent man. my i
allowed me to begin my studies in painting, thinking that it his expectations
were not realized, I was still young enough to embrace another profession."
"The trade <>t a goldsmith," remarks the painter Timbal, "is. even in the
provinces, closely allied to art. Thence, no doubt, a more willing indulgence oi
the venturesome inclinations of the budding artist an indulgence not without
merit ; tor. at this time, painters sold their pictures with difficulty, it they
led in Selling them at all. and a vocation lor art not unreasonably alarmed
prudent parents. Let us avow to the praise of the father oi Ger&me, that he was
the firsl to give pledges to the unknown. In presenting a box ol colors to the
head scholar in the drawing-class at the College ol Vesoul, he was setting tire to
powdei ' "
"I entered then the atelier of Delaroche." continues (ierome. "where I
remained during three years. Rather mediocre Btudies shattered health,
nervous system greatly irritated ; but. in spite oi all. I made efforts and worked
my best. My student companions, whom 1 scarcely ever left, were Danurv.
l'ieou. and Goberl later on. Ilamon also. The first promised well gained the
Prt 1 de Rome while very young, and sent back two very remarkable nude figures;
but he was attacked 1>\ a mortal illness that swept him away in the prime ol life.
The second, with an admirable intellectual and physical organization, a Raphael-
/.//•/■ AND WORK!, Ol // i.\ i f;o \ G&RdMl 47
esque temperament, and a truh extraordinary facility ol invention and execution,
drowned himself, so to speak, in a bath of alcohol ; he is now but the shadow
of his former self. The two others have fulfilled the promise oi their youth."
Commenting on this period, Timbal says:
"The atelier ol Paul Delaroche al thai time held the firsl place among the
schools of instruction. The state patronized none. The master, in all thi
oi his renown, exercised over his pupils an authority which admitted "I no dis-
cussion. Hut Cicromc had already seriousl} reflected, and he accepted the yoke
without hesitation. Moreover, more than one affinity, and, despite difference in
age. a certain similarity of character, quickly established a sympath} between
him and his master. Delaroche treated with marked attention this young man
with the intelligent, resolute lace, this indefatigable and soon skilled worket
There was some merit in distinguishing one's sell m this great battalion
among which shone Damery, Picou, lalabert, and Hamon, whose reputation
already extended beyond the lour walls of the atelier
"In a brief time G6r6me became a sort ol chief among his comrades, who
recognized his unique qualities, and submitted to his tnfluenc< he lived for three
years in this circle. But, alas ' the atelier is not always the peaceful sanctuary ol
study. Tranquillity becomes sometimes antipathetic to the ageol imagination, in
which quality these sixtj young people were not lacking. All did not employ it
111 the same manner. The) would work lor several hours and all went well, hut
then came moments ot repose, dangerous moments, during which their repressed
spirits broke through all restraint. Then certain traditions are hard to efface
that ot hazing {des charges) was still greatly honored, and it furnished occasions
tin mam practical jokes. The inventors found an extreme pleasure in this form
ol amusement, more so than the strangers passing through the Rue Mazarin or
the Quai Conti, with whom the) were continualh in conflict. Rumors ol these
disturbances finally reached the ear oi the master, who was intensely displeased.
offenders seemed repentant, promised to do better, and recommenced their
pranks the next day. Let those who are without sm throw the first stone al
these imruh ones. Unhappily, a sad accident changed into a tragedy the com-
edy which had so Ion- fatigued Delaroche. who, indignant at the death of a
new pupil (who perhaps fell a victim to the severe annoyances attending Ins
admission), closed his atelier and summarily dismissed innocent and guilty
without distinction. During this time tieronu was ■'! VeSOUl."
The hapless student here referred to was the subject "i a practical joke some-
what more elaborate than those usually conceived b) the thoughtless hut not ill-
natured band of mischief-lovers in the atelier. For some pretended offense, he-
ed a mock challenge, which lie accepted m good faith, the meeting taking
plai e with all the solemnitj that should accompany an affair of Hie and death
hut he subsequently discovered, while lying ill of a fever thai had threatened him
for some time, that he had been duped the pistols having been charged only with
b s //// l\/> 1VOXKS 01' //:i\ ll'j'\ G&R6ME
powder! In bisweafc state, he magnified what had been intended onlyasa harm-
less plaisanterie mi" a di lib rate and deadly insult, and fell into a violent rage,
seriousl} aggravating his illness, thi fatal termination oi which was mourned by
11 more deeply than bj his comrades, who had only expected to enjoj a heart]
laugh togethei with the victim <>i their unluck} jesting.
Ger6me, as we have said, was at this time fortunately on a visil to Ins
parents al \ esoul, I te w rites
•• It was in the third year oi my studies that, on returning from a vacation,
I learned oi the closing oi the atelier and. ai the same time, the news
thai M. Delaroche had placed us Picou and mysell in the atelier oi M.
Drfilling ; two blows {deux tuiles) ai a time! I weni immediately to find
my deai master and told him that, satisfied with his instruction, I should
noi dream of seeking elsewhere; thai I lived well enough al Paris on my
little annuity and consequently could exist at Rome, whither 1 desired to
follow him ' "
The truth is thai G6r6me had less than a dollar a day to defray </// his
expenses rent, food, fire, clothes, use oi atelier, colors, canvas, models, etc.
He often recurs to these days of privation : " The happiest of my life. Ma foii
I was nch. There were others that had nothing absolutely nothing! And I
have seen days when, if we could scrapi together forty sous to dine^ve of us, we
thought ourselves fortunate." Some of his friends who knew him intimately, at
this"happy" time, have testified thai his purse was always at the disposal of
those who had " nothing," and that the "shattered health" of which he speaks
was due in great measure to privations, self-imposed, that he might he able to
assist his less fortunate comrades.
I le continues in Ins recollections :
"Ai the age of eighteen, therefore, I was in It.dv. 1 did not deceive myself
in regard to my itttdes d' atelier, which were in truth very weak. I knew
nothing, and therefore had everything to learn. It was already something to be
well posted as regarded myseli ' r ' (know thyself) a good thing!
I did not lose courage . m\ weak health impro\ ed under the influence of the good
climate and life in the open air. and 1 set to work with ardor ; I made studies in
architecture, landscape, figures, and animals; in a word, I fell thai I was waking
up by contacl with Nature. 'This year was one of the happiest and best
employed oi my life, for ai this time I was assuredly making real progress.
lied m \ silt closely in my work, and one daw having made a study rather
easily, I scraped it entirely from the canvas, although it was well done, so much
did I fear to slip on the smooth plane of facility. Then already 1 was. and have
remained, verj severe toward myself. I am my most merciless critic, because 1
do not delude myself in regard to my work. As to the self-styled critics, their
approbation and their raillery have always found me indifferent, for I have
THE GLADIATORS
ULPTURE-BRONZE)
1878
//// AND WORKS OI // \x //..ox ci.KOMI
49
always had the most profound contempl foi these vermin, who prej upon the
bodies "' artiste (, "> day Nestor Roqueplan, who was the equal of
his confreres, told me that one thing was evidenl / did not show sufficient
deference to the critics/ I replied to him, ! have talent or I have il not.
If the first is true. you critics may find fault with and demolish mj picl
as much as yon please; they will defend themselves, and the public will be
the judge. In the second case, unmerited praises will nol rendei my works
1
better, and no one will he entrapped by these lying snares. Moreover,
added, 'whatever may In- my lot. m the presenl or in the future, 1 have
firmly resolved never to pay the claque/' Ibis conversation created a coldness
between us."
In a characteristically humorous preface to the essaj from winch we have
' quoted, Bergeral rallies the master good-naturedly on ins frankly
expressed aversion to critics en mass*
"Never believe any one who tells you that (Jerome loves art-critics I writes
Bergeral gayly], lor be simply execrates them' A writer on art is tor him the
dried fruit, par . vcellence, oi arl I literature, whichevei you please. I confess
here that in our first interview he did not mince mailers in ,^i\ ing me his opinion
on this point, from whence I conclude be is not very proud oi the race! It is.
nevertheless, rather singular that the artist should owe bis precocious celebrity to
one oi my confreres. It is true the latter possessed, in addition to bis critical
capacities, an undisputed genius as a poet and novelist, and that he Was called
///•/■ l.\/l WORKS Of // M //HI i,/:A'iM//
Theophile Gautier. My relationship to him is certainly the sole cause why I was
mil received with a volley oi stones by the painter ol the Combat de Cogs ! And
truth compels me even to declare, that, exception once made in my favor, I found
myseli in the presence ol the mosl charming, spirituel, and learned man that I
have ever had the good fortune to meel among the large family oi painters. I
imparted to him the objecl oi my visit, which was to biographize him alive in /.(/
Galerie Contemporaine no more nor less than it it concerned an artist for whom
I professed .1 very sincere admiration, and whom I considered one of the glories
"i contemporaneous arl ' He burst into a laugh and went over to his secretary,
from .'i particular drawer in which he took an exceptionally good cigar and
offered it to me. I give them only to m\ friends!' he remarked, and it
was thenceforth understood that he would not treat me .is a critic! His
two greyhounds, which till then had held themselves aloof, perhaps only
awaiting .1 sign from their master to reduce me to a state oi ; m 1 p. now drew
near, joyously wagging their tails, and one ol them curled 1 sell up to
sleep at mj feet.
"Bless mc. yes! there are critics and critics, lust as there are fagots of all
qualities. It is clear thai an .mist oi Gerdme's ability, for instance, has a right
to consider as both presumptuous and incompetent the bachelor oi letters who.
without acquired knowledge or previous study, takes it into his he/id to determine
the merits oi an art ol the very elements ol which he is ignorant. It is also
evident that the same (leromr mighi justly leel offended at being called a Mieris,
junior, by Burger, ij Burger passed lor a recognized authority in art matters; for
omparison is unjust to the Liter master, and betrays both prejudice and
lity in the judge, lint, on the whole, it the painter has Theophile Thore
against him, he has Theophile Gautiei for him. and to be able to offset the taste
oi the former by thai ol the latter, should, it seems to me, afford ample consola-
tion. Besides, with all due deference to the master, if the critu did not exist, the
artists would he obliged to invent him solelj in their own interests. The per-
sonal harm writers on art are able to inflict is more than compensated for by the
service they render to the cause oi general instruction. And then, as Figaro
would say in regard to the infallibility of a critic, how many painters are there
who are qualified to exercise the profession? It we serve only to soften the
brotherly judgments of the artists among themselves, and to act as "mattress"
between the different schools, we should still play a useful r61e. This is what I
was thinking about while watching the blue spirals oi smoke from Ger6me's
cigar disperse themselves in the atelier.
'When I write the folio ol which I dream, on the utility of art-critics, l\ is
understood that I shall dedicate it to Gerome! .and among the overwhelming
proofs which 1 shall give of this utility amounting, indeed, to indispensability
is that of having been able, thanks to the institution, to publish this biographical
si ud\ ol the master ' "
We. wdio have enjoyed and profited o greatlj h\ Bergerat's admirable
writings, are only too read] to admit that ai hast criticism such as his is
LIFE AND WORKS OF //■:.!. V LEON GERdMl 51
"indispensable," and to recommend his essays, with theii profound learning
underlying all the sparkle oi fanciful wit, as a model for la critique, as a
profession.
We left Ger6me in Rome, where he remained one year, working with
tremendous energy under the eye of his watchful and sympathetic friend and
master, storing his mind with varied knowledge and developing surprising
facility, especially in drawing, lie would doubtless have been content to pursue
delightful studies in so charming an entourage, hut the parental ambition
lv satisfied by the assurance of his general progress, howevei
The Prix </c Rome offered by the French Government was. at this time, hotly
contested, and naturally attracted the attention id the prudent father, wdio
repeatedly urged his son to enter his name as a competitor for this much coveted
prize, which guaranteed to the winner five years' instruction at the VUla Medici,
the entire expense of which was borne by tin-
In order to comply with the conditions ol the competition, it was necessary to
be an actual student in some atelier id repute in Paris, and Cu'rome, obediently
yielding to his father's desire, quitted Delaroehe and returned to place himself
under the instruction of G ley re. We have heard it stated that he found the
comparison unfavorable to his new master, but. with his usual delicacy, he has
refrained from expressing himself on this point. The fact remains, however,
that In tayed only three months in his new atelier, and then joyfully rejoined
Delaroehe, who had returned to Paris, working with him on a celebrated picture
now m the museum at Versailles, (ieidme refers in his notes very briefly to this
period
"On my return from Italy I entered the atelier of M. Gleyre. Three months
oi study nude figures. I then worked for nearly a year at the first draught ol
.1 picture which occupied my mastei (Delaroehe) at that time. I refer to the
Charlemagne Crossing the Alps. Then, as my father still desired it. I attempted
the concours tor the Prix de Rome. The sketch was well received, the painted
figure rejected. Decidedly I needed to draw and model the nude. It was with
this intention ol study that I painted my first picture, Jeunes Grecs Faisant Satire
• oq I dreaded the Salon, and feared rejection, and it was owing solely to the
advice of the Patron that this canvas was sent there Uthougb badly placed, tin
picture had a very great success, unquestionably an exaggerated success, which
,1 tonished no one so much as the author!"
Commending Gerdme's resolution to perfect himseli in drawing Mom the
nude. De Tamilian) remarks
" In this he acted verv wisely, and furnished an example which young
painters would do well to imitate. The majority of them hasten to execute
pictures before becoming sufficiently versed in drawing. Now drawing is the
5 a I'll l\/i WORKS, Ol // M //o\ CAROM*.
-"'"I °f all the plastic arts. Withoul it, other qualities, however brilliant they
ma} seem, are <>nl\ .1 deception, the effeci oi which will inevitably fade away
before long."
01 the young artist's successful debut, Tim I ml writes as follows
"The Salon oi 184; oughl to have left some traces m the memon ol those
whom age condemns to remember it, bul how manj remain to day who can
11 - Grande cevt s/>atium ! Since then man} illustrious ones have des< ended into
the tomb or into oblivion At thai time, one man reigned supreme in the
departmenl ol criticism, His incomparably skillful pen was a scepter, a dreaded
si eptej whose caresses urn- longed for and whose blows solicited ; neglecl alone
was feared. Happily, Theophile Gautier was good, and he exercised his powei
with benignity Like an astronomer, he was devoted to his search for stars;
his joy was never so greal as when, in the mass oi canvases under which the
chefs-d'oeuvre oi the masters in the Louvre were yearly hidden, he succeeded
in discovering some nameless our. some victim unjustly hoisted bv the
administration to the height of the frieze. The more obscure the corner, the
more openly did the protection ol the patron asserl itself, and the more ardeni
was the revoll againsi the ignorance or the ill will oi the judges." .
He then refers to Gautier"s description oi Gerome's firsi picture, which brought
him it one hound into public notice, adding "The greai critic was nol deceived
either in the value oi the work or the meritoi the artist. The chief of tin neo-
grecs, ignoranl ol the onerous title with which he was so soon to be decorated,
revealed in his first effori his wonderful naivety and his already consummate
skill ol execution."
De Tanouarn also delightedly praises this firsi effort, saying " In this sphere
(the neo-grec) he showed himseli graceful withoul affectation, simple without
barrenness, and learned without pedantry."
We cannot do better than to transcribe in lull Gautier's criticism, which
aroused so universal an attention.
" Let us congratulate ourselves that the jury, apparently through inattention,
has admitted a charming picture, lull oi delicacy and originality, by a young man
ol whom we hear lor the firsi tune, and who, il we are nol mistaken, has just made
his deliut ; we allude to Les Jeuncs Grecs Faisani />'<////;■ des Coqs,h\ M G£rome.
This subject, apparently trivial, has, under his tine and delicate handling ol
1 and brush, taken on a rare elegance and exquisite distinction : it is not.
as one mighi think from the themi chosen by the artist, a canvas oi small dimen-
sions, as is usual in similar laiu'tes. The figures are lile-si/e. anil treated in an
entirely historical manner. Greai taleni and resources have been necessar} to
raise so episodic a scene to the rank ol a noble composition, which no master
would disown. Beside the pedestal oi an exhausted fountain, where a marble
sphinx shows its disfigured profile, surrounded by the luxuriant vegetation oi a
1111- l.\/> WORKS OF //■■./. \ ll':<>\ <,//,,u// 55
warm country, arbutus, myrtles, and oleanders, whoso metallic leaves stand oul
againsl the azure ol a placid sea, separated from the azure of the heavens by
thi 1 resl oi a promontory two young people, a youth and maiden, are engaging
in combat the courageous birds oi Mars.
"The young girl leans upon the cage which contains thi warlike fowls, in a
pose full oi grace and elegance. Her beautiful, tapering hands are crossed and
charmingly disposed one oi her arms lightly presses the budding breast, and the
bust has thai serpentine curve so sought for by the ancients; the foreshortened
limbs arc skillfull) drawn ; the head crowned in exquisite taste by a coronet ol
blond hair, whose fine tones contrasl softly with the skin has a childish deli-
cacy, a virginal sweetness; with lowered eyes md mouth parting in a smile ol
triumph for her cock appears to have the advantage the maiden regards
the struggle carelessly, sure that her wager is won.
" Nothing can be more beautiful than this figure, whose only covering is a
fold ol white and yellow drapery, held in place on the sloping contours 1>\ .,
slight purple cord ; this grouping oi tints, very sofl and very harmonious, ad-
mirably sets oil the warm whiteness oi the young Greek's body.
" The youth whose locks are adorned with a hastily twined wreath ol leaves
plucked from the neighboring bushes is kneeling and bending toward his cock,
whose courage he endeavors to stimulate. His tenures, although reminding one
perhaps a little too much ol the model,' are drawn with remarkable skill; we
can see that he is utterly absorbed in watching the phases oi the combat.
"As to the fowls, they are real prodigies oi drawing, animation, and color;
neither Sneyders, nor Veenincx, nor Oudry, nor Desportes, nor Rousseau, nor anj
other artists who p.nnt animals, have attained, alter twenty years ol labor, the
perfection \I Ger6me exhibits at the start. Black and lustrous, with greenish
reflections, the neck bent, its triple collar oi feathers bristling up. the eve lull ol
fury, the crest bleeding, the beak open, the claws drawn back to the breast— one
oi the cocks. ,10 longer touching the earth, darts forward, presenting to its
adversary two stars of threatening claws and formidable spurs a marvel oi pose,
drawing, and color.
■• Not less worthy of admiration is the cock of the coppery, reddish-tinted
plumage, which, drawing back close to the ground, lifts its head craftily and
extends his beak like a sword, upon which his too lien Opponent may run him-
seli as on a spit | Whal is remarkable above all in these fowls is that, besides
the most absolute truthfulness, they show .1 singula! elegance and nobility.
They are the epic Olympian birds, such as Phidias would have sculptured al
the feet ol the god .Ares, the savage offspring oi Here
"Children and birds have made oi M Gerome's picture one ol the most
charming canvases in the exhibition, What a delicious frieze-panel for the
banquet hall of a king or a Rothschild!"
We know already that this picture, which merits every word of eulogy that
has been bestowed on it. met with the noblest fate painter or critic could have
desired— namely, purchase by the state and a place on the line in the principal
$6 1/1/ l.\/> WORKS OF II M l/a\ ,,li;'nn
gallery oi the Palais du Luxembourg. Later, Edmond About wrote, "Greeceis
thecountryoi simplicity M Gerome was 'Greek' from the beginning, because
he was simple." And in the midsl of all this laudatory criticism of the young
debutant, ii is interesting, as Bergeral suggests, "to know, to-day, whal Gerome,
Wembre de I'Institut, and several times the recipienl of the Medal of Honor.
thinks oi this first picture of Gerdme, pupil ol Delaroche, and refused in the
competition for the Prix de Rom,- ' " We have only to turn to the notes where
he lias so candidly recorded his recollections of these i nl> efforts, and we shall
see. I le u nles
\i this period I speak from a general point of view there was a complete
absence ol simplicity. Effecl (le ckic) was in great favor, when accompanied by
skill, which was not infrequent. And my picture had the slight merit of being
painted l>\ an honest young fellow, who, knowing nothing, had found nothing
belter to do than to lay hold on Nature, and follow her step by step, without
strength perhaps, without grandeur, and certainly with timidity, but with
sincerity. Praise was unanimous, which was not always the ease in the future
\lv success encouraged without puffing me up. They gave me a third-class
medal. My loot was in the stirrup' 1 then attempted a more complex compo-
sition, in which I had less success. 1 mean my second picture. Anacreon Dancing
with Bacchus ami Cupid, which was exhibited the following year, 1848. A dry,
cut-up picture, the style and invention of which, however, were not bad. It I
had had then the experience I have since acquired, this work might have been
a good thing it remains mediocre. (In the Museum at Toulouse.) I had at the
same time sent a Virgin u/n/ Child, after the manner of Raphael - insipid and
of poor execution. Complete fiasco with these two pictures it was deserved!
This paragraph attests, without a shadow ol question, the genuine imparti-
ality of (lerome's self-criticism. Having fallen short of his high ideal, he
disdains to mention a fact that, to say the least, would have brought consolation
to almost any one else save this exacting spirit, namely, that his pictures won a
second-class medal, an advance upon the first year, and that the government
purchased the Anacreon lor one ol its best collections is only briefly stated in a
parenthesis ! It is true that the astonishing successof his debut was not repeated,
but there is a homely old saying that mighl apply here "lightning rarely strikes
twice m the same place." Still we search in vain for so unsparing and severe a
judgment as this merciless critic inflicts upon himself. Timbal writes; "The
admirers ot yesterday were a little anxious; they should have quickly reassured
themselves ; ii is not given to every one to commit these faults ol exaggeration
and arrangemenl through hatred oi the commonplace, and not alone by its
stt ingeness did the Anacreon stand out in relief from its neighboring cam
Doubtless the bod\ and limbs ol I he lliitc-playcr were too rigidly modeled;
THE MUEZZIN
i AT NIC I IT'
1882
LIFE AND WORKS OF JEAN LEON GERdMl 57
doubtless the poet, with his immense lyre, formed a somewhat strange silhouette
upon the sky, and the little god Bacchus staggered more through the fault of the
portraitisl than from the effects ot intemperance, Bu1 what a charm, reminding
one of Luini, in the figure of Amour,a.nd in the least details ! what ingenious
research and what originality of execution' The eye wanders delightedly over
this antique landscape, never seen in the engravings of Poussin, but taken from
real Nature's greal garden— with its somber rocks spotted with lichens, its green
sward swepl by the chill wind from the sea. and its trees, with their delicate
branches and tine foliage colored a pale gold by the vanishing sun. trembling in
the breeze." And speaking of the religious picture, Gautier says: "Gerflme,
although a pagan of Pompeii, also fully understands Christian art. HisSt./ohn
Embracing /he Child Jesus on the Knees 0/ /he Virgin might have been signed
by Overbed,-, only Overbeck would not have displayed this profound science
of drawing and this exquisite taste bidden under the Gothic pasticcio. Gerdme
toward Calvary by way of Athens'"
Despite Heroine's feeling that he had tailed lo achieve a success, the enthu-
siasm aroused by his last efforts was undeniable, and his little band of followers.
henceforth known as the tteo-grec school, increased in numbers and rallied around
him with all the ardor of youth and fervoi oi artistic zeal.
" Hut the days following victory," remarks Timbal sagely, "are often full of
rs ; not only do enemies watch for possible faults on the part of the
conqueror, but friends even sometimes become more exacting. Ccromc was
going to experience for some lime the instabilities ot success, although he S<
only to have to march on in the route he had traced out for himself, and in which
others already were following htm. The eyes o! the public were fixed in expecta-
tion on the tiny garden in the Rue de Fleurus, where, in the shade oi lilacs and
rose trees, the little colony had pitched its tents and set up its household ;od
near him they had chosen as their chiei
"They constituted.'' says Mrs. Stranahan. " a kind of apostlcship around
Gerdme of artists oi the most d( [icate conceits, and formed in art a sort oi
little Athens, in which Theophile Gautier made himself fondly at home It Has
a realm, tin air of which would not perhaps be sustaining or even perceptible to
the respiratory organs of Courbet. Then practice was the opposite ot his; it was
i" put the common, trivial incident into a graceful rendering, often with a
charming poetic sentiment, and by harmonizing contours and evolving grace of
line, to give to the nude the classic treatment. They had a predilection for the
nude. Their treatment differs from the academic classic, in taking tin common
incident, the familiar and emotional side of Creek or Roman life -in fact, in
painting the genre of the antique, or. a more pleasing if less substantial depart-
ment of then practice, the genre of fancy as in the works ot Hamon and
5 s I"! WD WORKS Of Jl \A ll.<>\ GiRdMl
Vubert. They also treated subjects ol modem life, but it was by poetizing them
inio the classic, rathei than by aggrandizing them into it, as bad been the
practice oi the Davidians. The influence of this school is in some d
perceptible in mosl oi the later French artists."
11 was in a simple little wooden cottage thai these happy poet-artists
gathered around theii beloved leader, who, as Hamon wrote, " inspired one with
a love "I work, bul work dom laughing and singing!"
Bui there came, as we have heard from G6r6me's own lips, days oi
di couragemenl and trial, and, in truth, oi real suffering and pinching want.
The revolution ol 1848, in which he figured prominently as captain on thi
oi the National Guard, although comparatively pacific, seriously affected the
already precarious existence ol the struggling hand, some ol whom were
practically withoul resources. There was no demand normarkel for paintings,
and G6r6me's generosity soon broughl him to the common condition, "emptj
pockets." Many were the curious shifts thej made during the nexl year to keep
ih "wolt from the door " ; such as painting tin} religious cards representing the
" Way of the Cross," and drawing lots to see who should place themselves on the
steps of the differenl churches, in the hope oi gaining the price of a meal by
selling these incentives to devotion to the faithful, as they passed in and oul ol
the sanctuary. Hut in spite of empty stomachs and chilled fingers, which were
often wanned only over a blaze made ol a stray newspaper captured as a wintry
wind blew it along the boulevard, the work went on. and the "laughing and
singing" did not diminish, though an attentive ear mighl have detected an
undertone ol pathos and patient resignation. Gem me. as usual, does not dwell
on these days of hardship, stoically endured ; pride and consideration tor his
parents prevented him from confessing his need} condition till a dangerous
attack ol typhoid fever almost put an end to Ins career Mis dear mother
hastened to Paris, and. alter weeks oi devoted nursing, carried him away to
Italy, where they remained tor three months, visiting Genoa, Milan, and Venice
before returning.
licrome again takes up his recollections. Alter this I exhibited almost
everj year, hut I had losl ground, and several works placed before the public
Kit it cold and mdi Herein . One oi them, under the title ot (, ym cie, aroused con-
siderable attention, lull more on account ol the subject (sad ' sad ') than of the
in inner m which it was treated."
Uthough, as Bergeral says, "ii somewhat shocked the bourgeois and philis-
tine folk, who seemed to demand that the artist should regard these beautiful
forms and graceful postures from their severely moralistic point of view," it can-
not be denied that the suhject is portrayed with the sohemess characteristic of
this painter, who reproduces the actual life of ancient ('.recce not only in his
/.//•/ AND WORKS Of / /■ I \ llo\ ,,/,,,
themes, bul in his modesty ol pose and delicacy of treatment. Aside from the
masterly modeling oi the differenl figures, which are standing or languidly
reclining on couches covered with tiger-skins, whal delightful grouping ol details
Al tm, l here! Vines clambering upward toward the sun over polished marble
pillars; a solemn old stork standing on one leg and gravely regarding some black
and wink- ducks who paddle to and fro in a pool ol cleat water; vases, lamps,
and amphora oi exquisite shape ; delicate frescoes and tiling ; graceful draperies;
ous fruits heaped temptingly in a Sal bowl with curved handles, and burning
incense mingling its intoxicating perfume with the fainl odorol the flowers thai
liave dropped from the hand oi the sleeping beauty, who lies upon a superb lion-
skin which is thrown on the tessellated floor '
()| this canvas, which also hears the title Intirieur Grec, Haulier declares. " ll
is the only picture which can be placed beside the Stratonia o! Ingres, li is a
chef-d'oeuvre ol style, grace, and originality."
No reproduction exists ol two additional paintings exhibited this same year
i 1850) Souvenir J' Italic and Bacchus et VAmour I ires : but the latter ol which
Ri m M< nard writes. Every one will remember what a sensation was produced
by this charming picture" was singled out by the government and bought foi
the Museum at Bordeaux.
The years 1851 [852 were busily employed executing a state commission, con
cerning which the artist writes as follows:
ll was toward lliis period that I finished a Chapel (St. Sevcrin). which
doubtless has some merit, hut which betrays the youth and inexperience of the
artist. On one side the ( ommunion of St. ferdme, on the other Beteunce Making
a I ow to the Sacred Heart during the plague at Marseilles. ( )ne or t wo charactei s
m the first picture are well done, among others the Si. Jerome; the general
character is quite exalted, and the treatment does not lack boldness; bul every-
where there is dryness and even hardness. This is a delect which I have
always soughl to correct in myself, and if 1 have succeeded in diminishing it. I
h ive not vet been able to rid myseli ol it entirely. In the other picture, several
ters are well conceived, among others 1 he young woman showing her dead
child to Belzunce. 'The scene is well composed, the subject clearly expressed
I hat is all I can say of it !"
Who among competent professional critics will fail to appreciate the sterling
worth of criticism like this, or the rare Strength of character that renders 11
possible ?
Masson characterizes these mural decorations as "two noble compositions
..I an elevated character and a true inspiration. II certain portions seem a little
dry. nothing is ordinar} In fact, this is a distinguishing feature in the work of
Gerdme that it never falls into, nor touches ever SO slightly, the commonplace."
6o
///■/ i\/> WORKS <</■ //..i.\ //.ox <,/./,
M. de Tanouarn also describes the same work as "an admirable composition,
endowed with all the qualities which religious painting can have in our day.'
In point of mural decorations, Ger6me was afterward called upon to adorn the
Bibliotheque afes //A, 7.1/ 'tiers, which was the ancient refectory ol Saint- Martin-
des-Champs, and several years later for some
panels in the 1'ompeian Palace of Prince
Napoleon, ol which we shall make further
mention
The Salon of 1852 also held a picturesque
landscape entitled Vue de Pcestum. The broth-
ers Goncourl devoted quite a space in one of
their admirable critiques to this charming bit
ol Nature, where "the whole scene exhaled a
delicious freshness." They especially admired
"the heavy heads, the W00II3 tufts, the solidit}
ol the joints, and the varied movement of the
buffaloes, hastening, rushing down to the w;
to quench their thirst, "
<. i lome's notes now briefly record the
exposition at the Salon of 1853 of a frieze
destined to he reproduced on a "vase, com-
memorative- oi the Universal Exposition at
London, ordered bv the Minister o| Slate from
the government manufactory at Sevres." 'The
figures on this superb vase, which was
sented by the French Governmenl to Queen
Victoria, were life-size, and ,u;avc the artist a rare opportunity to exhibit his
versatile powers. :->.ivs Masson
" Never perhaps more than here has the painter given proof of his inventive
genius, in the grouping ol personages, in the research for symbols ol each nation.
111 the pursuit of characteristic types of the human races. The composition is
ingenious and simple. With a subject that too easily [ends itsell to the common-
place, the author has drawn a lofty poem oi I niversal Industry, for which each
nation furnishes a strophe. Antique costumes, learnedly studied, freshened by
ingenious details, ennoble the modern accessories. It is a kind ot ethnographic
resume, which it is interesting to compare with the tapestries ot the eighteenth
century which represent the Lour Quarters ot the Globe."
Ciiome has also executed life-size figures ot different nations lor a mode]
lighthouse, in an equally masterly manner, lie also sent to the same Salon a
Study of a Dog and fdylle,a fantasy in his much-loved classic style a youth and
LIFE I.Y/i WOJiKS OF JEAN LEON GERdift 61
maiden leaning against a fountain where a graceful fawn comes confidingly to
drink. It is a most poeti< conception, expressive of pure, artless love and the
happy insouciana oi " Life in Vrcadia."
We now come to the first of those journeys which had so decided an influence
over the subsequent work of the artist, and oi which he briefly speaks as follows ■
" In 1854 I started for Moscow with my friend Got. <>n the way we changed our
minds, turned back, and took the route to Constantinople by way of the Danube
and the Black Sea, a voyage ol tourist-,, not workers."
He could scarcely have chosen his compagnon de voyage better. M. Got, the
celebrated actor a the Comedie Frant aise, was a man not only skilled in his own
profession but of remarkable learning and a genial wit. Unfortunately war broke
out and prevented our travelers from gaining the interior. Obliged t'> retraci
their steps, they took passage on a huge flatboat, which drifted lazily down the
Danube, touching here and there to discharge or increase its cargo. Of this
journey Timbal writes ;
"One day, as Hie boal stopped for this purpose, Ger6me and his friend went
on shore tor a stroll . chance led them near a ^ r roup dimly outlined through the
morning mists. It was a band of musicians belonging to tin- Russian army, wdio
were singing a battle-march, Gerome approached, leisurely regarded them, took
his sketches and his notes, and the Cossacks did not concern themselves about
him. More prudence is exercised on other frontiers, and any other unfriendly
nation would perhaps have made a hostage oi the audacious painter, or. more
probably, a spy and a victim. This is how it happened that, starting for the
Ukraine to sketch the descendants of the vassals of ancient Rome, (ierome met
there the actors in a little page of contemporaneous history, whose modest figures
destined almost to eclipse those of Virgil and of Brutus, but who opened up
to him who knew how to see and to portray them a new vein of success ; it is far
from being exhausted, and it is by this carefully renewed and cultivated power of
recognizing the picturesque element, and the striking physiognomy of foreign
races, that the painter still achieves to-day one of his most incontestable
triumphs."
This was only one of the many sketches with which our artist filled his port
folios before taking the steamer at Constantinople to return by way of Malta to
Paris, where he attacked with renewed ardor the great historical picture which
as we have seen, excited the profound admiration not only of the more serious
artists, hut of the most distinguished poets, historians, ami litterateurs oi that
period. But it was to the general," and the disappointment of the artist
ing his picture-- "i gi no pri ferred to his greater work is easily understood.
lie writes : "This same year I had received an order for a large picture - The . tge
of Augustus, Birt h of Christ. Tins canvas, which cost me two years oi work
and enormous efforts (it measured ten meters in length bv seven in height), only
///■/ \ND WORKS <>/■ II l\ m<\ t.ll'. 'I//
obtained a succes d'estime, which was perhaps unjust. However, I must admil at
once thai the picture had one glaring defecl il lacked invention and originality,
recalling l>\ the disposition oi the figures, and unhappily by this point only, the
\potheosis oj Homer, by Ingres. This grave faull once acknowledged, it is just to
admil thai in this vasl composition there are figures well conceived, motifs oi
groups happily combined (such as Brutus and Cassius, Cleopatra and Antonj i,
arrangements ol costumes and draperies in good style; in short, a quantit3 oi
fancies, crowned in some instances with success, with which perhaps the public
should have accredited me; it has not done so."
Here again we see Gerome, with his severely critical eye, detecting and
magnifying his weak points, utterly underestimating the impression made l>\
this remarkable picture, which, adds Gautier to his exhaustive critique, alreadj
quoted, "will he forevei remembered as one oi tin- beauties "I the Exposition
\i the same time." continues Ger6me, "appeared a small picture repre-
senting The Band of a Russian Regiment. I had, il seemed, found la not,
senst /•/,'. tor u was much more remarked than my large works, on which 1 bad
a greater righl to count. This year I received the decoration oi the Legion
i 't I tonor."
\nd another medal, he might have added, hut that his mention of laurels
d is rare. and always brief, since they never have impressed him as deeply
as his failures to attain to his highest ideals. It was no consolation to him to
see visitors to the Salon jostling each other in an effort to gain a place in the
crowd that always stood before his other pictures, notably the Recreation in
< </////>.
In a private letter to a triend at this tunc. I u r >me writes : "I send you the
picture ol the Russians, which I took to M. de Nieuwerkerke a few days ago.
I le has allowed me to hope thai he will make ever} effort to have il hung on the
sacred walls/ As it is not large, try to place it well tor me. it it is still allowed
to come in. I do not know what title to give it. 1 think it would he best to
simply call it Russian Recreation in Camp Souvenir of Moldavia, 1854. It really
has no need ol a title, tor il is sufficiently plain, ami. even it it is placed, it cannot
appear in the catalogue."
The artist need not have feared tor the late of this little gem, which was
gladly accepted by the administration, many weeks alter the opening ol the
Exposition, achieving an instant and universal success. Gautier writes of it as
follows :
"Let us speak now ol a picture which does not appear on the catalogue
1.. ause it was not finished till long after the opening of the Exposition. As it
is difficull to find, we are sure of rendering service to amateurs by informing
them that it is placed in the lust gallery, among the exhibits from Portugal. It
III! l.YD WORKS OF II IX I i:o\ (,/,■.
is .i study from nature made during a journey in Moldavia in 1854, when the
artisl had the good fortune to be in close proximitj to a Russian camp ; actuality,
as one will quickly notice, is nol wanting in iliis scene.
"Some Russian soldiers, dressed in capotes of gray drugget, resemhling the
frock oi a monk or a hospital great-coat, and wearing blue helmets bordered
with red, are ranged in a circle; the} have been ordered to amuse themselves and
thej are conscientiously obeying the command; one ol them has advanced to
the center of the circle and is executing a kind of awkward Muscovite cachucha,
accompanying himseli on two triangles garnished with strings on which quiver
liulr copper coins which he rattles together; the orchestra is composed oi a violin,
a drum, and a fife; those who have no instruments sing, or, inserting two fingers
into their mouths, produce a shrill whistling ; some of them, between the strophes
ot tins rondo, take .1 w In it from i heir short pipes. Nothing is more i 111 Hiiis than
these Kalmuck anil Tartar types, with then flat noses, projecting cheek bi
ami shaved heads, their Alhinodike mustaches, and little eyes under eyelids
sloping toward the temples ; the countenances ol these poor devils are resigned,
nostalgii and very gentle in spite oi their ugliness; the young fifer is almost
good looking, and on the field of battle he would blow into his little reed pipe
with the same stohdiU as did the lifer so much admired by Frederick the
Great.
■■ At a little distance an under-officer mounts guard, holding in his arm. bent
behind ins hack, a whip, to stimulate the mirth ! Farther oil a second circle is
absorbed in the same diversion. Tents of white canvas, a gray hill where seven
or eight windmills arc turning their tans, looking like huge wheels, a hazy sky
on which a sharp line is traced by a llock of cranes, the Hat hanks ol the Danube,
where a melancholy sentinel is gazing into the turbid current all this tonus a
m isi original background for this strange < ircle. It is impossible to describe the
profound sadness of this scene, placed in these somher surroundings, dimly
lighted, and as il veiled with ennui. The execution has a precision and finish
that does noi exclude breadth, the secret of which M. Gerome possesses. One
more ol Russia m looking at tins little canvas for a quarter ol an hour
than by reading twenty descriptive volumes ; painting, with its mute language,
often says more than the wordiest writers."
\\ it h, mi i eci pi mil. i li< en ties lavished praise on tins unique and exquisitely
painted scene, where, as Edmond About sa\ s, -each fold ot drapery might have
been signed bj Meissonier."
In addition to these two canvases, each so extraordinary in its own sph
«, rome exhibited three hits of genre; ./ Flock-tender, An Italian Lad Playing
on ,/ Samponia, and the pendant, In Italian Girl Playing on a Mandoline, which
I'.autier pronounced "very finished and very precious, strikingly displaying the
dclicat. p. i u i tion oi the artist's skill."
\i tin- end oi this Exposition," writes Bergerat, "a little saddened by the
injustice ol the public toward his important effort in le grand art, Gerftme started
'■I /.///. i \ /> WORKS, Of IEAA L&OA G&ROMl
for Egypt, Was he not predestined to painl the Orient, this man whose first
child's attempt had been to copy a picture by Decamps'' - And Timba] adds,
' IK- went in seek the promised land, the country oi those poets, choristers of the
sun. who were called Marilhat and Decamps. Did he nut show some temerity
in choosing theii route' What was the newcomer going to do? Copy his pre-
decessors or contradict them.' Cicrome did not embarrass himself in advance
with troublesome questionings. U hat he was ^oin^ to see he would relate in his
own \\a\ Comparisons weighed hut little on him. A single desire possessed
him to copj faithfully the scenes the Orient wasaboul to place before his eyes.
In finding again on theshores.it the Nile the souvenir of that second vocation oi
which he had caughl a glimpse one day on the banks oi the Danube, he fixed a
certain horizon and determined upon a precise goal which lor some time had
seemed to tlee before him."
In truth, in Ocromc's recollections there sounds at this moment a joyous note
ot relief, hope, and eager expectation : a view-halloo oi the unequaled success
thai was to crown his efforts in this line :
■Departure lor Egypt. My short stay m Constantinople had whetted my
appetite, and the Orient was the most frequent of my dreams. Probably some
Bohemian slipped in among my ancestors, tor I have always had a nomadic dis-
position and a well-developed hump ot locomotion. I started with friends, being
one of five all of us with little money hut abundant spirits ' I Eowever, living al
that time was very cheap in Egypt. The country had not yet been invaded by
the Europeans, and one could live thereat a very moderate expense. We rented
a sailboat and stayed for four months on the Nile, hunting, painting, and fishing,
from Damietta to Philas We returned to Cairo, where we passed tour
months more in a house in old Cairo, which Suleiman Pasha rented to us. In
our quality ot Frenchmen he showed us the most cordial hospitality, Happ\
time ot youth, thoughtlessness, and hope! The sky was blue! ... Many
pictures, more or less successful, more or less to the taste of the public, were
executed as a result of this sojourn by the hanks ol the Father ot Waters.
With these lew lines, the artist lightly disposes of that unprecedented col-
lection of paintings which he sent to the Salon ol 1S57. and which al once estab-
lished his claim to the title oi foremost Orientalist ot the age -a claim since
confirmed beyond all question. The amount of work he accomplished within
a lew months is almost incredible, and its variety and quality astonished alike
connoisseurs and the general public.
Timba] writes: "It is ancient Egypt, whose sand each year devours its
precious remains, and also Egypl Struggling for a new birth, where the painter
seems lo show us the steady fatality which keeps an accursed race under the
double yoke oi slavery and suffering. He gives to these revelations ol a country
LIFE AND WORK!, Ol Ji I \ //[,i\ <,//,.
already well-known, a new physiognomy, ana 3 to his pictures the indisputable
authority "I a document of winch history will one day invoke the testimony.
And art can demand nothing more from these scenes, so proudly faithful in their
simplicit} "I effect and execution, winch repose eyes wearj oi conventionalities
become ba nates, and which are none the less skillful because they 'I" nol pretend
to add lighl to the sun, nor to lend brilliancy to the rags <>i the fellah. "
Lei us follow Gautier as he passes from one to the other oi these
wonderful canvases, reproducing with facile penci
see the originals, their unique beauty,
which he Ikis already given us
some foreshadowing in his re-
view dI the atelier sketches.
for those who cannot
pathos, and power, oi
down in white
buildings. The
appearance "I snow-
" ( me is apl to picture
to om's sell tropica]
countries as glowing
and flaming with
licit ; this is true some-
times but not always. The intense light pouring
floods changes the color ol sky, earth, and
sand, on lire, assumes under a leaden sun the cold
while the impalpable dust raised on the horizon forms a kind of mist
which chills and extinguishes the warm tones of color. Therefore the absolute
truthfulness ol the Egyptian Recruits Crossing the Desert is more astonishing
than convincing to the general eye. One thinks, in spite ol one's self, ol
the deserts of the opera, with their skies streaked with indigo and mine </.'
Saturne, and their inevitable clump of palm trees. Here, there is nothing
ol the kind ; sand as white as powdered freestone, blown into rippling waxes
by the wind, betraying the passage of caravans by large footprints, or rising
in opaque whirlwinds; a sky \eiled by a dusty fog and burning with the
rays of a sun blazing at a white heal b< lore, behind, to the righl and
to the Kit. above and below, an absoluti barrenness dull, pallid, dry, over-
whelmed and overwhelming; the only drops that fall being drops oi sweat.
the only breath that stirs, the suffocating khamsinn. The Egyptian recruits
traverse this charming site in charge <>f several Arnauts. One can well
conceive that, in order t<> force them to start, it was necessar} to end-. I
them soundly, and fasten them, two by two. like galley-slaves, in their wooden
stocks. At the head ol tins melancholy cortege strides an A ru, i lit, his j^un thrown
across his shoulders and under his arms, like the wands the bears, confreres
oi Atta Troll, hold between their paws; he marches with a calm, insolent, and
cruel air. in his beautiful costume whitened with dust. The sufferings of the
miserable wretches who follow him with heavy Step, hindered by their shackles,
do not move him in the slightest degree. lie has lor human life the quiel
fatalistic disdain ol the Orient. Several soldiers guard the column which faces
///■/■ I \ /> WORKS Oi //■ I \ L£ON GiRdMI:
the spectator. The firsl row is composed oi fellahs, Copts, and negroes, clad in
blue shirts, in brown tnach'lahs or white burnous, more or less tattered; some
.Me barefooted, others drag along in fragments of savates, A gloomj despair
can be read in their stupefied countenances, and they march with the som-
nolenl pace ol overdriven beasts ol burden whom the lash lias ceased to sting;
the fetters on their wrists prevenl them from even wiping their foreheads.
The second file, already less distinct, appears in the gaps between the heads,
and the rest of the column stretches out like a flock ot shadows through an
ever-thickening cloud of dust. \l Bida has treated the same subject in a
drawing which will not fail to impress European travelers. Bui hehaschosen
the momenl ol departure, where the scenes oi farewell have furnished pathetic
effects In the picture by \l G6rflme, the victims, caught as in a vise between
the impassibility of nature and the impassibility of despotism, have nol even
tears lefl to shed
With a sigh and a shudder, we move on beside the great critic and pause
before the Memnon and Sesostris.
"Two mountains sculptured in the form of man which neither time, nor
tremblings of the earth, nor conquerors much more terrible, have been able to
mo\ e from their base ' They arc there, their colossal hands crushing their knees,
shapeless, monstrous, flat-nosed, returning slowly to rock, standing oul against
the arid background of the Lybian range winch lies barren beneath a scorching
snn rosy in the light, blue in the shadow. Memnon has lost his voici . and. since
the Roman Emperor essayed Ins restoration, no longer salutes Aurora. The
inscriptions on the pedestal seem to-day untrue, but the phenomenon ot his melodi-
ous vibration is established by history in the most incontrovertible manner. At
the fool Oi these gigantic Statues, a group of men and camels may serve as a scale
oi comparison ; they scarcely attain the heighl oi the base-plate. To relieve this
landscape of limestone and granite, M. (ieroine has placed m the foreground
se\ era! clumps oi green herbs, which the summer will soon change into tawny tuits
i. sembling a lion's inane Some camels are squatting on the grass unsaddled.
chewing, or stretching their necksover the turf. In the center ol the picture, a
large camel, with one fore-leg bent in a shackle, seems to resist the efforts ol Ins
drivel to make him kneel beside a more peaceful comrade. The stubborn animal
raises its head, shows its gums, and is doubtless making the kind of grunting
noise which is the mode of complaint peculiar to the camel. The accessories, the
saddles, cushion-,, carpets, sticks, and bits oi stuffs are treated with a consci-
entious precision thai reveals the use ol each object. Ill the background, an
Arab, mounted on a ma Inn- i, is scudding awa\ at a great pace; nothing can be
more odd than this ambling gail and these long legs agitating themselves in
like those of an immense field-spider. M. G6rome, during Ins travels in
Egypt, has made a special study ot the queer profiles presented in repose and in
action by the strange animal to whom the Arabs have given the name ot 'shipol
the desert '; he is thoroughly master of it and can reproduce all its attitudes.
LIFE \\l< WORKS 01 II i\ LSOA (,/■:■ "1
I In Plain oj Thebes is the reverse side' oi the picture we have just de-
scribed. The foreground consists oi fragments of enormous columns, in scattered
Mocks, on one oi which is carved the image of a god ; il is the debris oi a ruined
palace, probably thai of Amenophis; beyond the ruins stretches a plain subjeel to
inundations, crossed by a road along which a caravan oi dromedaries is passing,
followed by a little donkey carrying its rider on the croup after the Axabii
fashion. The two colossi, with great difficulty diminished by the distance.
reappear, seen from the hack, their royal tresses gathered and knotted behind
their heads like a queued /a prussienne. Farther on, the eye discovers blackish
lands, besprinkled with trees and palms, and to the righl hillocks, or rathe)
mounds formed of nuns, fragments oi which stick up through the ground. In
the background a chain Oi distant mountains, rosy and purple . oxer them a skv
misi\ with heat, which seems to lie far above and behind the shimmering,
luminous atmosphere, and on which a tlock oi wandering storks make micro-
scopic points.
" We describe m detail, as if we were on the very spot, these strange land-
scapes, so new to Parisian ideas that any one but a traveler would be tempted to
believe them false precisely because the representation is so absolutely true.
Hut what can we do' The environs of Thebes do not resemble the outskirts of
Tails' We must make up our minds to be content with this barrenness
grand, solemn, and mournful. On the frame the sacred uroeus spreads it> wings,
and the hieroglyphic I barai ters, most familiar to travelers, succeed in giving to
the whole an absolutely Egyptian appearance."
Beside these more important pictures bung a simple everyday scene, the
accuracy oi which all travelers m the desert lands oi the East will .ittest. The
critic ot the London Athenceum especially recommended to English ariists close
studv of the "superb execution and firm, deliberate drawing." Gautier also
describes in his graphic way this picture of Camels Drinking from the
Fountain of tin- Crocodile, which takes its name from the sculptured figure
over the basin:
■■ Before a stone trough led by the clay pots of a sassaohieh.a group ot camels,
one "I which carries his driver, extend their ostrich-like necks and plunge t lnii
hairy lips into the water, drinking lor the thirsl to come. They are of all kinds
anil colors, and \l. (uremic has been able to indulge himself to his heart's content.
Il would be difficult to rendei more perfectly the hairy skin, the physiognomy, and
the character of this animal. Only the desire to reproduce everything has
perhaps led the artist to elaboration of minuti;e; certain portions are rather
sculptured than painted, and the covering oi the muscles is in some parts meager.
But how greatly we prefer this severit} to the slovenly vagueness ot main artists.
Doum palms, with their fans oi pointed leaves, the side oi a wall, and a bit ot sky
till the background in a characteristic manner. This picture whose subject
offers nothing dramatii but which represents a scene ot patriarchal hie with a
truth on which the most suspicious can i.lv pleases and interests us greatly.
68 /.//■/■ l\l> WORKS 0/ II l\ li't>\ <,//,,'!//
We are nol oi those who desire that art should have a purpose outside of itself ;
but, without heing utilitarian the least in the world, we think thai painting is oi
use, when, n maining within the conditions of beauty, ii acquaints us with the
types, customs, aspects, and usages ol distant countries; and that is why we laud
M. G6r6me for having quitted for the moment mythology and history, to take us
with him mi liis travels."
Bui G6r6me is not oi those who quickly and easily forsake "the old
love foi the new," and be adds to his collection a dainty bit of real life
more familiar to the average traveler, from the land that claimed his early
artistic affections,
" Al the corner oi a streei in Rome, some pifferari are standing before a
Madonna, sheltered in a littli i hap< I > rected on a fragmenl of an antique column
with i Corinthian capital from a crossbeam ol iron fastened to the wall hangs a
lamp about the height ol the sacred image. According to the Italian custom the
pifferari are serenading the Holy Virgin and the Divine Child. One of them,
the youngest, is playing on a species oi fife; the other presses under hi
the leather bag of the cornemuse, inflated with wind, and devotes himself to his
untutored fingering oi the long pipes, One knows, even al Paris, the picturesque
tatters oi these Strolling musicians, so beloved oi artists, and who, tor the most
part, come from the Abruzzes. Their sharp and nasal chanting is not without
charm, above all when heard from a little distance. This time \l GeYdme has
chosen microscopic proportions and his picture could be placed on the golden
plate oi Meissonier. Ii is a inn chej d'eeuvre oi finish, delicacy, and precision.
Place upon a perfect photographic prooi a vivid, clear, charming color, ami add
the style, which is the very soul of the artist and which no instrument can
give, and you will have the Pifferari oi M G6r6me, a miniature which pos-
sesses grandeur."
Leaving these strange, exotic scenes ol the distant Bast, and this typical
Southern group, we find ourselves on the edge of a silent crowd whose faces.
expressing varied emotions, are eagerly turned toward another cam as bearing the
same signature. Says De Tanouarn : 'The artist has resolved in this work a
delicate problem he has pleased the 'crowd' without degrading art; he has
approached them like those ariimls seigneurs who make themselves accessible
without losing any of the dignity of their rank." lie was speaking ol the world-
renowned Duel after the Masquerade, the original of which is in the magnificent
I oil, ction of the Due d'Aumale at Chantill) . and a replica in the wonderful gal-
leries oi one of our most cultivated and liberal American connoisseurs, Mr. \V. T.
Walters of Baltimore. It will be interesting to uole how this picture affected two
nations so different in then "point of view "as the French and English. To this
end we quote two quite lengthy reviews; the first by Gautier, the second from
the London Athenaeum oi January, 1858.
LIFE l\/> WORKS OF Jl M !/,<\ GERdML ; i
" One is always sure [says Gautier] ol finding a large crowd stationed befon
the Duel by M. Ger6me. It is the popular success ol the Salon ; and. as the
picture is no1 large, one must always awail one's turn to see it, This vogue, lei
ns hasten to say, is nol due to any method that arl would disappro^ e Nourished
by the severest studies, and endowed naturally with an exceptionally pure taste,
oung master would scorn a triumph gained al such a price. The singularity
oi the subject attracts the public, the meril oi the execution retains the con
noisseur. h would he almost trite to say thai the forms and costumes of modern
life lend bul little to painting. Artists appear more convinced than any one else
of this truth, and the\ willingl) borrow from ancient times the subjects of their
compositions. It is only in the lasl extremity, as in the portrait, for instance,
that they resign themselves to the actual fashions; and even then they alter
them as much as possible b) the introduction ol mantles, burnous, shawls,
and other accessories having some special character. Even in genre they stop al
the last century, where one seeks the picturesque in the Pyrenees, in Brittany, in
Aragon, in Algeria. The number of canvases that could serve as documents in
future ages, as to our interiors, our furniture, our costumes, out types, our mode
ol life, is excessively limited; and, unhappily, almost always oi mediocn i
tion. It seems that the art ol to-day is affected by farsightedness, and can only
discern objects belonging to remote and bygone ages; it sees nothing around
about itself. Aside from several portraits and official pictures, lew ol the
canvases mark the present period. We must, therefore, thank M. Gerfime, the
painter ol Grecian elegance, the Pompeian archaeologist, th< expert in exotic or
primitive types, for having taken a hare subject from our customs; he risks
much in handling a reality oi which every one is, or thinks he is a judge, in sub-
jecting new matter, new physiognomies, and new attire to the requirements ol
art. What would have happened had he depicted a duel foughl in black
The idea of the Duel after ///<• Masquerade is ingenious, thrilling, dramatii
it impresses at the same time the mind and the eye. by the antithesis of the action
and the actors terrible act ion. grotesque actors, a duel ol pierrots and harlequins
elevated to a tragic height, without avoiding a single comic detail. Some young
people, doubtless overheated with wine, have begun a dispute on the steps ol the
Opera, 01 in some cabinet in the Maison d'Or, on account ol .1 push with an
elbow, a too cutting sarcasm, a slight In ol jealousy, or lor any other trifling
tine oi those busybodies who are alu,iv> read} to show courage with
the blood of Others, has brought swords, and llie whole companv . without taking
time lor .1 change oi costume, hi ae out in two carriages to the Bois de Bou-
logne; ilu gi a dawn scarce opens its heavy eyes upon the morning mist,
through which skeletons o I slender trees are dimly seen. The snow covers the
earth with a white winding-sheet, stretched oui during the night as ii to receive
the d id l old, solitude, and silence have kepi watch around about, that nothing
should disturb the combatants ; and indeed, the) have succeeded onlj too well in
their unlucky affair. Footmarks in the snow show the place ol the struggle ; one
ol the antagonists, the pierrot, has been wounded and could say with Mercutio,
ng a funereal pun. 'Ask for me to-morrow and von shall find me a -rave
72 I'll AND WORKS Ot // l\ I l.o\ G&R6MI
mail!' The blood spreads its red stain over the cassock with the big buttons ; the
liml)s, from which the life is departing, and over which the will no longer asserts
us power, lie inert on the snow, and, under the loose garments, seem already
stretched oul in a shroud. Were it nol for the friend, disguised as a valet of the
Comedie-Francaise, who supports him, he would fall prostrate. The pallor of
death shows through the paint which has been partly wiped from the face of poor
Pierrot; the dull eye already stares into vacancy, and on the drawn lips his
expiring sigh leaves a rosy foam.
" f*he sleeve ol the right arm. turned up above the dhow for the combat,
exposes the quivering flesh and weak muscles of the young debauchee, who still
holds beneath his contracted fingers the sword that has so poorly defended Us
master. Vnother person, dressed in the costume of a Chinese mandarin, red and
-nen, oddly beflowered in fantastic design, throws himself upon his knees and
examines with terrible anxiety the bloodstained breastol th< victim. A. little in
the rear ot this group, a man in a black dommo is lifting his hands with a gesture
.a despair, as if to i e. 1 1 his hair at the deplorable result ot a silly quarrel.
'Another -roup, at quite a distance Irom the first, is composed of the
murderer and his second, who are hurrying awaj a harlequin and a Mohican.
Harlequin, to prepare tor the fight, had thrown on the snow his black mask and
his paletot ; his sword, stained with blood, lies on the ground, and these sig-
niticant accessories skillfully connect the two parts of the composition; the har-
lequin seems to he feverishly telling the savage, whose arm he clutches, that his
opponent did not parry, that he absolutely ran himself through with the sword,
and other explanations, too late to avoid the inevitable fatalitj : the other bends
as it to reply. 'What is to be done about it?' In the back-round the earn
the wounded man assumes m the fog the melancholy look ot a hearse, with it^
inky silhouette, and the drivers, who arc whispering together, seem like under-
takers.
"Surely this is odd and sinister, ot a wild and romantic fancy and a
strange philosophical daring! To mix up the Carnival and Death, to change
the wooden sabei ol Harlequin into a real sword: to transform the spol
wine into bloodstains, to surround the death agony with a circle ot masks, to
demand ot Harlequin, ' What hast thou done with tin brother Pierrot?' All
this would make the most intrepid hesitate. M. lureinc has performed this
difficult, not to say impossible task with an icy severity, a pitiless sang-froid,
an irony superior to late, lie has forgotten nothing; neither the ruddy hole
nulled m the snow by a drop of warm blood, nor the spangles which sparkle
on the lozenge-trimmed coat ol the murderer, nor the bears-claw collar ot the
Indian, nor the formless and battered mask, nor the paint on the lace ot the
dying man dissolved by the cold death-sweat.
All this is rendered with a clean, firm, delicate, assured touch which keeps
always within a perfect contour, and a color that is sober, neutral, wintry, SO to
I re, .led by the livid, shuddering pallor in the midst of which the clear,
vivid tones of the costumes produce a sinister discordance. The face of Pierrot,
who is sobered by the approach of Death, and Irom the dizzj whirl of the
THE PYRRHIC DANCE
///•/■ l\/> WOKKS Of // I \ t&OA G&RdMl
73
masked ball passes to the Bilence oi the tomb, is a creation oi powerful origin-
ality; no grimace, no melodrama, no straining after effect. There is something
in il as dry. exact, and strong as a page "I Merimee. The impression produced is
the more profound in thai the narratoi appears indifferent. M. Gerdme, like a
careful artist, does noi leave i" thi fancy oi the gilder the form and ornamenta-
tion of his frames. lie has himself designed, lor the top of this one. two masks.
tragic and comic, separated l>> a fool's bauble. Does not Folly dance bi I
J03 and Sorrow, causing one to he horn of the other'"
One tnighl think this mastei page oi description hard to equal, \et the critic
ol the Athenaeum admirably holds his own. tie says:
The Duel after tin- Masquerade, oi M. GerOme, appeared at the fay end ot
the last French Exhibition, but too late to receive the universal admiration due to
its greal merits, and too late to obtain from us more than a line ol notice. The
scene is the Bois de Boulogne time daybreak; the sky lurid with a dull, yellow,
curdling toy. The duel has just taken plaee. The one who is pricked to the
heart is a pierrol one ol those Scaramouch clowns that the Italians introduced
into France in the days of Bellerose and Gros Gentlareme. His face is a three-acl
\ reduced to one look : a gray glaze is over the eye thi passionate, sensual
mouth is just dropping with a horrible, agonizing grimace that eonvevs to vim
the very gasp and sickness ot the lust sensation ol a vita] wound. The face is
drawn with the pain ; and from under the white fool's-cap the death-SWeal
trickles through the white fool's paint still on the vicious cheeks, jusl as rain-
drops do through tin- silver] mist on a winter window-pane. His leys are thrust
out stiff and straight in the broad, loose fool's dress, and one hand still holds th
thin, sharp sword and another clutches at lite. Pierrot, poor. mad. stabbed
Pierrot, is held in the hall careless aims oi a Due de Guise, in the full white
ruffles, short blaek coat, and slanted close cap ol that Bartholomean age. Sum
or eareless. you hardly know which, tor his dark taee is bent with a sullen
anxiety over the sped man. A Doge oi Venice, in a greal flaunting robe oi
dowered green satin, with another over it of scarlet, edged with dee]) still gold
lace, bends oxer Pierrot, groping, with horror in his laee. for the actual orifice ol
the wound, from which bl.uk small hole ooze, fast and pulsing, dark drops thai
raci down the looks white dress, over tin.' round cotton tufts thai ornament it,
and all down the stiffening limbs into a red pool 0D t he trodden snow. Behind
him is a more conventional face a brothet oi fathei in .1 passion ol grief, his
hands up to beat his temples or tear Ins hair, to think that here a change is
coming that no love, or prayer, or enduring, can stop. His long, black, lace-
trimmed domino trails out behind against the Doge's crimson. The yray cloak
11I the dying Pierrol and his staring, impudent mask lie beside him on the snow ;
and then to the right of the picture are the victors, miserable, though they have
won the game. The red Indian who foughl has his back to us, and is hurrying
away, conscience-stricken, and already repentant, to his coach that black thing
that looms through the toy. His second -perhaps his Asmodeus, his prompter,
74 LIFE l.\/> WORKS Of //-. i \ LEOA i,li;oMi
his evil genius a harlequin, a mottle ol dull green and red, the spangle and tinsel
all gone when last night's lamp-, wenl oul with a repentanl stench al the wicked-
ness they had seen lias him hurriedly by the arm. They arc no longer mere
friends, thej are both criminals. He tries to cheer him with an ill-assumed
boldness. 'The thing is.' he says, 'an everyday thing,' and so is murder!
nothing I accident ' Hut the murderer is already bowed and aged with sorrow.
Hi has only the selfish satisfaction ol having himself escaped, oh, that it had
been his arm, he thinks; 01 thai I had disarmed him I bul that grinding thrust !
There is the sword dropped as it was drawn from the cloven heart!
"The harlequin has .1 great-coat thrust on by one sleeve like a hussar jacket,
just as, hot and fired with brandy, they tumbled into the coach and drove straight
for the lonely wood outside the Boulevards. How we long thai thai benl man in
the long, skin cloak and fur hood, with 1 1 I moccasins, and hair tied up in
a knot, with gaudy red and yellow macaw feathers stuck through, would turn.
that we might see and profit by his anguish I Well may the frozen trees shake
their long, black, spectral fingers over the scene -the horrible sequel ol a ni^ht
oi \ ice.
And there are two coaches seen through the fog, with the skeleton-look in-
horse-., lil only lo draw an orphan's hearse to a cheap funeral, with their carrion
drooping with the night's toil and roll. One coachman is holding up his
hand in horror at the scene, he wonders if ,m\ one will pay his tare, or if he
will he arrested, lie does nol like Carrying home the dead fool. The other
waits and listens, ungesticulating. There, loo. the two lout; paths ol stamped
footprints in the snow; the one right, the other left They drive round to
avoid the gendarmes, who don't like lo see two cahs driving together at odd
hours to the duelists' wood.
And this is the end of it. Those two trodden plats oi snow, a dead body,
and a guilty heart, all to come from that war of music and ol voices, that deluge
ot shouts and laughter and screams, thai whirl ol feet-stamps, that jostle ami
hell-pool of vicious, leering laces and wanton eyes, thai fog and eddy of colors
and sound, ol hoi patchouli, ol rose, ol frangipanni, of muslin and ribbons, ol
fools, goblins, peasant ^irls witches, and monks and all for what?
"There is an epitome of a hundred passionate novels in this painting,
which is worthy of M. Delaroche's besl pupil. There is room in it for all
shades of painting, from the speckle of Teniers to the willowy sweep oi Rubens.
is room for Vcrnct's impetuosity and \l. Gerdme's care. A liner moral
mi than this ol M. Gerdme's has not been taught since Hogarth's time."
Claietie, In some reminiscences of a visit to Chanlilly main years later,
when he again saw the Original, writes :
" This picture, which has lost nothing ol its picturesque coloring or dramatic
qualities, soon popularized the name of Gerfime, till then acclaimed by connois-
seurs. It was a success without precedent. The 20,000 francs lor which the
little cuadro was sold, seemed then to have the value oi ^oo.ocxi ol to-day.
///■/■. WD WORKS* Of // l\ LEON GBROifl 75
'Phis distressing scene in this dreary winter landscape, this masquerade ending
in butchery, this ball at the opera looking into the morgue, caused a vivid
impression, the poignancy oi winch was heightened by the finished execution."
One mighl easily believe thai nothing could be altered oi added to heighten
the effect oi this master composition ; but an artist like Gerfime always sees room
for improvement, and eagerly seizes any opportunity thai may offer for a finishing
touch. In a letter to the dealer charged with the sale of the replica from which
the engraving was made, he writes:
" I learn with the greatest pleasure that you have sold the reproduction oi the
Duel that 1 have don, for you, and I am all the more pleased since I hear it has
been bought by a distinguished amateui . one is always glad to know one's off-
spring is well located. The alterations I have made from the original picture
have singularly improved this composition, especially in its general aspect ; some
sacrifices made in the background have left to the premier plan, thai is to say,
to the important figures, all their effect, and I regret not to have thoughl oi it al
tirst. when I executed the original. This improvement has been mosl valuable,
and you would have been struck with it had you been able to see one with the
other. I havi modified also the head of the savage; it was not well understood
at tirst who was the adversarj . now it I* plain to every oik and contusion is
no longer possible. In short. I think I have improved as much as possible on
my tirst work, and I am happy that it has fallen into the hands oi Mr. Waltt rs
of Baltimore, since I am told he can appreciate things seriously conceived and
Seriously executed.''
One canvas in this unequaled exhibit still remains undescribed, "a picture,'
says De Tanouarn, "remarkable tor absolutely Oriental coloring, its grave and
devotional sentiment, anil its physiognomies, slightly savage, yet altogether
touching." And Gautier writes :
" However great the merit of the Duel, we prefer the Prayer in the Hon
mi Irttaut ( 'hie/, which attracts less of a crowd. There is in this picture a spirit
of tranquillity, contemplation, ,md com iction that is truly admirable. Tlie scene
has tor a stage a chamber of thoroughly Oriental nudity: a low divan running
around walls roughly whitewashed, a ceiling showing all the beams, and on the
sidi .1 door draped wil h a portiere. rhe floor is partly covered by a mat of plaited
rushes, which is re-covered by a Turkish or Persian carpet. On the walls hang
guns, rifles, and muskets oi various forms; a panoply oi battle-axes and yataghans
is combined with a tall palm; from the ceiling descends a chandelier made oi
. tilled with oil, like those one sees in the mosques. A small round tabf
in cedar-wood and mother-of-pearl, in charming taste, supports a three-branched
brass candlestick holding large wax candles. In the foreground is a lini "I
babouches, slippers, shoes, and savates, curious specimens oi Mussulman shoemak-
ing lor the votaries of Mahomet bar their feet lor all the occasions on winch
Christians unci >\ ei I heir heads.
I ill i\i> WORKS <n /I i.\ I /:o.\ G&RdMl
An old ni, m, (il vigorous and venerable appearance, his hands lifted in a
sacramental posture, recites the suras of the Koran with an aii ol profound faith,
nun.. I i..w. n. I Hi, I i.i toward that Mecca where are found the tomb ol Ma-
homet, the black stone, and tin- well ol Zem-Zem. Behind lnni. like pious soldiers
obeying the commands oi their chief, stand eighl persons in a row, their feel
touching the carpel ; they are rough fellows, with picturesque and savage counte-
nances, softened foi the moment by a religious sentiment. A lively faith shines
m these uncultivated, swarthy, and ferocious laces. Each
head presents a particular type, with all tin- verity ol a
portrait. Always remaining within the limits of the
severesl ait. Ni. Gerome has made an ethnographic
Stud) as exact as that ol \| \aleno in the provinces
of the Danube. \l Serres, the
anthropologist, could lake notes
from these specimens ol almost
unknown races with all con-
fidence. By this scrupulous fidelity, of which he has already given proof in the
A, . / eation oj the Russian Soldiers, so much admired at the Universal Exposition,
\l Gerome satisfies one of the most imperious instincts of the tune, the i
which nations have to become acquainted with each other, otherwise than by
means ol portraits taken from the imagination, lie possesses all thai is necessary
to fulfill this important mission : an eye which sees quickly and correctly, a hand
thai executes learnedly and surely, -writing down each detail with the impertur-
bable clearness of the daguerreotype, and, above all, a perception which we may
call exotic, foi want of a more precise term, -which enables him to discover at
once the characteristics by which one race differs from another.
"We have had an opportunity of meeting in Constantinople with most of
the types represented by \l. Gerdme, and we recognize them perfectly. Here is
really the Arnaut and the Armatole. with their tall, bony frames, their sha\en
temples, and their lone; mustaches; the Bulgarian already almost a Russian
wilh his reddish beard and lion-like head of hair, and the Syrian wearing his
chachyeh all are here, even this lovely blond child, with the silky hair falling
from underneath the tarbouch,as beautiful as a woman and serious as a man, who
makes one think of the Greek Imotir. and the Orientates of Victor Hugo A little
behind this row, a slave joins in the prayer, made, for a moment, by his religion,
iu.il o| his masters. .All these personages are dressed m varied and pictur-
esque costumes. The fustanelle, spread like a bell, touches the doliman with its
straight folds; the elbow ol the braided jacket jostles the flowing sleeve the fez
and the turban alternate , the pommels of kandjars and pistols bristle in the belts
oi embroidered morocco or peep out from the folds of a scarf. All this is ren-
dered with Hi. delicate firmness which is peculiarly characteristic of the artist.
I'lu almost uniform attitudes are relieved from monotony by slight differences,
which do not strike one at first Among these believers some hands art
like those of the chief; others are pendent or resting on the hips; others have
the thumbs passed through the sword-belt, a posture common to the Orientals ;
///■/ l.Y/i tl'OAA'S Of II M I iox ,,/'/:, <\n --
but ;ill listen to the sacred words with a devotion and faith that should put
to shame many Catholics.
"Before this picture, the most perfect as yel produced by the young master,
i ritic, who never willingly waives his rights, seeks a but ox an <w*(y(like the
restrictive personage in the Faux Bons-hommes) to qualify the merited praise
In order, then, not to'miss our calling' let us reproach M. Gerdme with too
subdued a coloring, arising from a sacrifice to the general harmony, and
nothing remains to be said, lie has been the first to study the Orient
painter of history ; he has sought foi style where others, whom we never-
theless admire, have only looked lor color. Let ns accept then, separately, the
drawing ol \l Gerdme and the color of Decamps. lie who could unite them
to an equal degree would he mine than human. II Michael Angelo said.
What a pity the\ do not know how to draw at Venice!' Titian could right-
tnlly reply to him. 'What .1 pitj they do not know how to paint at Rome!'"
W 1 should not be surprised to find some lengthy record in the artist's souve-
nirs ol this matchless exposition, which exhausted the repertoires of laudatory
phrases m the vocabulary ol la critique. But he writes simply, "Another of my
pictures, on which I did not place any great expectations, was painted at this
time (1857), The Duel after the Masquerade, a composition a little .after the
English taste, the subject ol which laid hold of the public. Pretty good execu-
tion ; several bits well treated (belongs to the collection of the Due d'Aumale )."
And of the others not a word' A proceeding most characteristic of this artist,
who never loses a minute in conjecturing the effect of his productions or 111
savoring the applause which might have turned the head ol a less indefatigable,
less absorbed worker. Long before the crowds in front of these masterpieces
had begun to diminish he was again at work. And a^ain we have to thank
\l Gautier tor a faithful chronicle of his labor.
"The young painter, whose activity is untiring, has just finished (May,
1858), for the salon of the Pompeian residence ol Prince Napoleon in the Avenue
Montaigne, three panels, representing Homer accompanied by his two immortal
daughters, the Iliad and the Odyssey. In the central panel the god-like beggar,
raising his blind eyes to heaven as if to invoke Mnemosyne, is chanting one ol
Ins sublime rhapsodies; the young child who acts as his guide stands between
the knees ot the poet and holds out a wooden bowl, soliciting the charity of the
l, v (in the two other panels, on a background of anli. pie red. are
depleted the two epics I I1.1t of llie warrior and that of ihe wanderer. The
young artist has succeeded in creating something new, even alter the superb
figures on the ceiling by M. Ingres."
This beautiful palace has been arranged by tin- government a- a museum.
and is well worth the attention ol the passing tourist as well as of the art-eon-
noisseur and student.
/• s I III [\l> WORKS Of // I \ LAVA GtoOMl
In a review oi an exhibition "i modern pictures foi the benefit oi the
'Society for the RelieJ oi Painters, Sculptors, and Architects," we find a notice
"i ,i charming picture which was also finished this year:
The Collection t /.u Quite) represents a choir-boy, or rather ;i young
seminarist, seated againsl a wainscoting, and holding an alms-purse upon his
knees; the face is gentle, sad, sickly already fatigued by study, prayer, and
mortification , the weak chest in concealed by the black cassock, and the hands
clasp each other mechanically as il in an exercise oi devotion. < >ne won Id answer
for the vocation of this budding young Levite. His eyes, casl down, look al
nothing, and neither the sound oi a piece oi gold in his purse nor the rustle oi a
silken robe will caus< him to raise his glance; he is entirely absorbed in God.
rhi artist has succeeded in putting into this little painting an austere sobriety,
a sort oi [ansenism oi color. No brilliant tones, no bright lights, no straining
for effect ; nothing but the dim twilight of the sanctuary ovei a pale, immovable
figure, already dead to this world, though still young, and awaiting in silence,
for the poor children of Jesus Christ, the rich man's gold and the widow's mite.
We are happv to note also an etching oi the young master, a souvenir of his
travels in Egypt. It is a negress, with eyes halt closed as m dazzled by the sun.
thick lips, and cheeks as polished as those oi a statue in basalt. \ll this is
indicated in a few swift and sure strokes of the needle which tell much more
than all the patient labor ol the engraver's tools. It is a sketch on copper which
is worth an original drawing The biting ol the acid has changed nothing."
Well m . i \ the critic marvel at the "untiring zeal" ol the young artist, for
this same year marked a successful incursion into a new field ol activity,
which excited even the surprise ol his earliest friend and patron. In /'.Ir/ish
oi the i6th of Maw 1858, we find the following article;
" \ few weeks ago we declared that contemporaneous artists, confining them-
selves too closely to pictures and statues, did not sufficientl) consider the realities
oi this century. It anything characterizes our epoch, it is certainly the railway
carriage. One could not find a more significant design to put on the coat-of-
anns of the nineteenth century. Well ' M. Gerome, the author of the Combat de
I Intirieur Grec, Bacchus et I' Amour, and of L'Afiothiose d'Auguste, the
paintt 1 "i 50 antique, so pure, and so rare a feeling, is decorating a railway
carriage ' We are happy that our assertion has received so prompt a denial.
" This car has been offered by the Company ol Roman Railways to our verj
Holy Father the Pope, and nothing has been neglected that would render it
worthy oi the Sovereign Pontiff. It is divided into three compartments : an
Oratory, a salon, and a sleeping-chamber. Four angels m gold and silver, the
medallions of the twelve apostles, and pun Is oi bronze adorn the exterior. The
salon is decorated with paintings by M. turoine. arranged as follows :
" Facing the throne, and seated upon a marble bench rounded in a hcmicyclc.
, 1 1 11 ting on steps strewn with palms of the martyrs, Religion seems to
///•/■ IfifD WOKKS Of II i.\ I l';o.\ G&RdMl 79
regard the Pope -her representative on earth". She has as emblem, the chalice,
surmounted by the radiant Host. Above her hovers the inspiring H0I3 Spirit.
On either side stand the two pillars oi the Church : St. Peter with the keys,
St. Paul with the sword. The background is a light, blue sky, the top oi which
forms the vaulted ceiling which joins the sky ol the two side compositions. One
oi these paintings represents the Pope surrounded by cardinals and bishops and
from the top oi .1 pier blessing the approaching steamboat, which connects with
a trail oi lire the French and Roman railways; the Church is invoking
heavenly protection upon the -emus ol man. The othei shows us the Holy
Father making the sacred gesture over a locomotive ready to lake Bight, and
impatiently blowing off jets oi steam from its nostrils of brass, like the monsters
oi mythology.
"We bave expressly described, in then official barrenness, these three
subjects oi which the latter two would seem unfruitful and prosaic to the
majoritj oi .mists M. Gerome has, however, succeeded admirably with them.
The first would only bave to be enlarged to worthily form a hemicycle for a
chapel; the other two show thai the style lies m the talent oi the painter and
noi in the theme he treats.
"The benediction oi the boal has a solemnity without exaggeration, a
majestic disposition oi lines, an elevated character, which is often wanting in the
most elaborate oi historical pictures. The cardinals in their purple and ermine,
the bishops with their white miters and dalmaties oi brocade, the Swiss Guards in
their mediaeval costumes, respectfully surround the Pope in happy groupings
which are rich withoul contusion. The heads, some oi which are portraits, have
a varied and individual stamp, and the sm illness ol proportions takes away none
oi the grandeur oi character. The Pope laces the sea. \ Inch washes against the
toot ol the pier, and which is indicated by a coil of chain and masts of ships
stretching up in a corner of the panel
"By 1 happy contrivance, which insures variety, the blessing ol tin loco
motive is taken in profile. The Holy 1'ontill has advanced to the edge oi the
platform; his immediate attendants hold over his head -real tans ol white
plumes, and behind him the sacred procession displays itsell 111 line priestlv
attitudes, oi which the chiefs anion- the Roman clergy seem alone to possess
the secret, ami which add so much to the impression produced by religious
pomp. \\ I1.1l noble heads ol prelates and monks, and what dignity among
these Catholic patricians, even lo the smallest details!
All this is executed in tin 6rm, distinguished mannerwhich belongs only
to M. Ger6me, and clothed in soft, harmonious tints, more genuine in our opinion
than the loud tones which the multitude denominate ' line coloring.'
"A Holy Virgin with the child Jesus, and the Good Shepherd bearing the
lost sheep on his shoulders, painted half-length in medallions ol embossed gilding
in nco-bv /.inline style, complete the decoration ol the interior. Outside, on the
frieze oi th carriage.are the heads of the twelve apostles, painted by M. Gerfime
on disks oi gold. It would be difficult to decorate more tastefully and more fitly a
carriage offered to the Pope.
8o
///•/• l.\/> WORKS Of II I \ /K>\ g£r6mi
"The Pope a railwa) carriage I Strange junction of words which describes
in H II our age the ancienl am] modern spirit unchangeable tradition blessing
indefinite progress ' We could fill a column with this theme, bul we prefer to use
it m betraying the secrets oi the young painter's atelier.
"While looking at these decorative panels, we peeped out of the corner of
our eye al some canvases in more or less advanced stages <>i progress.and which
we are sine will | nod i ice. when finished, a greal impression at the next Exposi-
tion. M Heroine is not only correct and skillful with pencil and hrush. l.ut he
is also a man of the most tine and fertile mind. He does not content himself,
as so many others do, with the commonplace across which he Stumbles; he
hues varietj in his subjects ami he knows how to treat ordinary scenes in a
wholly unexpected manner."
In view oi the extraordinary achievements ot tin-, year, it is with a sense
of amazement that we consider his exhibit at the Salon of 1859, He seems to
have been drawn with irresistible force hack to the contemplation id' lite in
ancienl Greece and Rome, which tor a time had been superseded by his study
ol Oriental types and customs; and an eaj^er multitude, spellbound before
this new and thrilling manifestation ot his genius and learning, bore witness
to the ever-augmenting power ot this lust and foremost ot historical painters.
Small wonder that these masterpieces should inspire t'.autier to one ot his
finest efforts in the department of analytic description. In the Moniteur
I 'niversel, he writes ;
'The young master who made so brilliant a debut ten years ago with the
Combat de Cogs, a charming picture, which could have been taken for an antique
colored bas-relief, has a searching and penetrative disposition ; he is always in
quest ot uncommon themes. Rarity pleases him ; novelty seduces him ; Ik- loves
adventures in art and he provokes them at his own risk and peril. It is not he
who will repeat with slight variations a motif that has been well received, as
man] painters do who are quick of execution and slow in invention, and who
reproduce imperturbable the same picture all their lives long. Without having
written a single line, that we know ot at least, M. Heroine has a literary tendency
which betrays Itself in the choice ot Ins subjects, in erudition ot detail, and
archaical exactitude. It is not we, indeed, who will find fault with him for this.
This kind ol transposition renews the youth of Art. and infuses a little new blood
into its veins. M. Heroine possesses also the ethnographic perception so neces-~.il v
to the modern painter to-day. when so many races, which yesterday were un-
known, sprine, up to the light and enter into the ever-widening circle of human
types to be analyzed. He has proved it by his Recreation of the Russian Soldiers,
his irnauts <// Prayer, and Ins Egyptian Recruits. The Cock FightjOaz Greek
Interior, and the AgeoJ Augustus have shown us how familiar he is with ancient
times and with what accuracy be can make them live again ; he can even be
contemporaneous and produce tragic effects with a common carnival brawl. To
I I.EOI'AT K A AND I I VI
////• \ND WORKS, Ol // I \ //<M G&R 83
elevate Harlequin ami Pierrot to the heighl oi serious art, and show the palloi ol
death beneath the powder ol tin- disguise this was not an easy task. That he
has succeeded ha. been amply proven, rhis year M. Gerdrne ha- onlj traveled
in lime' he exhibits three antique pictures: Ccesar ; Ave Ceesar ; Imperator !
morituri /<■ salutant, and King Candaules.
"Ccesar, the largest oi these three canvases, and the only one oi histot
proportions, engrosses the e] e, as fai as it can Ik- perceived, by lis sinister, solitary,
and mysterious appearance, even before the subject lias been distinguished. In a
deserted hall, whose perspective shows onl) the pedestals ol columns and the feet
oi statues, through the shadows oi evening which are falling, one descries at first
an armchair overturned upon the steps oi a dais; then, under a mass ol white
draperies, disordered and bloodstained, a dead body, whose I now is crowned with
leaves ol beaten gold ; this was Ceesar ! Their task accomplished, the murderers
have departed, the senators have fled, and in the general stupor no one thinks to
take up tin- body. The master ol the world lies on the ground, on the spot where
lu loll, abandoned, alone in the deepening shadows, while without, the city, aghast
at the frightful aews, is agitated and tumultuous.
" This manner ol conceiving the subject denotes a reflective ami philosophii
spirit. The tumuli ol murder would have enticed a less thoughtful painter, and
doubtless the effeel would have been loss. Besides, M. Geroine has studied this
composition from several points ol view, and has chosen tin- most sober, thi
severe, and the most tragic. We remember to have seen on an easel in his
tiler canvas, where the death ol Caesar was treated in a more anecdotal
manner, so to speak. We hope that M. 1 ierome w ill finish this picture ol which
in t aesar, now on exhibition, is onh a fragment, enlarged, idealized, and trans-
figured to heroic size. The poem should not take the place ol the memory. On
the large .anas, the impression , on the smaller, the actual truth.
This striking picture.a life-size study tor which occupies a prominent place
in the Corcoran Gallery a1 Washington, furnished a theme tor many able pens.
Massoii, referring to .1 subsequent statement that "Gerome bad manj umes
clearly shown in various celebrated pictures the philosophic power ol his mind,
Bays, " The first ol these in dale Was the I Cesar exposed at the Salon ol [859. \\ e
remember il well . Caesar, alone, dead, lying at the feet oi the bronze statue in
the deserted Hall oi the Senate before the overturned throne." some amiable
jesters, some ol those who n\ m painting to he facetious, have called tins picture
"Washerwoman's Day." We leave the reply to Charles Baudelaire, who was
very tar from being one of Gerome's admirers
•Julius Cesar ' What splendor, as ol the setting sun. the name ot tins man
sheds upon the imagination ' 11 ever a man on this earth resembled the l)eit\ it
, Caesar. Mighty and fascinating; brave, learned, and generous! All force,
all i^lory, all charm ' He whose greatness surpassed Ins victories, and who o w
in grandeur even in death I He whose breast, pierced by the dagger, gave forth
I ///■/ AND WORKS Of II l\ ilt>\ G£KdMS.
onl) a crj ol paternal love, and who found the wound ol the steel less cruel than
the wound ol ingratitude. Certainly this time the him- mat ion ol M. Gi romi has
vi pi ' i\ i it reached an admirable heighl when ii conceived its Caesar,
alone, prostrate I" fori his overturned throne, the body of this Roman, who was
pontiff, warrior, orator, historian, and master ol the world, filling this immense
and deserted hall This manner ol treatingthe subjeel has been criticised! It
cannot be too highly praised. The effect is truly grand. This terrible resume
suffices. We arc all suffii ientl] well acquainted with Roman history to picture
i<> ourselves all thai is sous-entendu the disorder which preceded and t he
tumult which followed. We divine Rome behind these walls, and we hear the
cries ol this Btupid and freed people, alike ungrateful to victim and assassin,
' Let US make BrutUS, Cesar '
\l isson remarks. "This page consoles ns for many absurdities in the way ol
criticism." We find also in one ol De Tanouarn's thoughtful essays the following
jusl reflections
"Lei ns beware ol imagining that it is impossible to render a general idea.
or the physiognomy of an epoch or a nation, by a single action drawn from
history, On the contrary, art gains much, and the idea does not lose thereby.
I need no other proof than that which tieronie himself furnishes. Ills Ccesar is
assuredly nol a complicated subject ; it is simplicity reduced to its utmost limits,
since there is on the canvas but a single personage, or rather otih a body ! I>m
the body is that oi Caesar ' The emptiness of the scene makes one think ol the
void which the disappearance ol such a man is going to create in the world i
void which will only be filled by frightful wars and bloodj proscriptions. This
work is without doubt the best that Ger6me has \ et composed. Possessed l>\
a happy idea, he has expressed all the interest and emotion it could po^siblv
a intain."
An impressive contrasl to the quietude of this scene is found in that winch
hears the ominouslv significant title, " Hail, Ccesar, Emperor .' those about to die
.•ia/i/lr thee!
" This is the picture [says Gautier] before which the croud stops mosl
willingly. To see it. ii is almost necessary to fall in line as we did last year
before the Duel. o honest and intelligent crowd! whom we have so often
abused when we have surprised thee iii the act of using as a mirror the varnish
oi some abominable painting! we gladly award thee the praise thou meritest in
Standing thus before a real work ol art '
\I. I'lerome has rebuilt the Roman circus with the unexceptionable science
oi the architect, the antiquarian, and the historian; never has a restoration
led belter. It seems as if the artist had lived in the times of the C
and assisted in person at these bloody games; and. after the representation had
sketched the principal episodes on his canvas. Where has he found all these
LIFE AND WORKS OF JEAN LEON GER 85
lost details, these characteristic paxticulai faded from the memory ol man
and neglected by history? for such things cannot be invented.
II re and there a little in the poets and writers.a great deal in bas-reliefs,
medallions, paintings on vasi sand all the oxidized relics of antiquity, the excava-
tion ol winch li a crets ol the past. A prodigious patience was
needful to gather togethei thosi icattered elements; and a great an to group
them, to blend (hem. and make
them live.
" Al the righl ol the picl m e
nscs the logs ni Cesar, adorned
by slender columns with red Qui
ings, gilded on the projecting
angles, surmounted by winged
figures "I Victory, and twined
with golden foliage from which
are suspended shields bearing
heads ol the Medusa. On the
plinth is engraved the name ol
Vitellius, but even without the
inscription he would be quickly
recognized, bending his arm like
the h pot-bellied vase,
to lean his fat hand upon his
knee, a cascade oi triple chins
falling upon his great chest and
displaying the amplitude of his
obese majesty. Near him. the
Empress, haughty and absent
minded ; behind him, tin o >ui t
iers the favorites standing in
attitudes of respectful familiarity.
: the imperial loge arc the vestals in their snowy draperies, readj to
raise ot reverse the thumb which decides for life or death Farthei on, upon
the benches, divided by staircases leading to the doors of the circular corridors.
a multitude in varii I and vivid colors swarms up to the region occupied by the
plebs m their gray tunics. Overhead, held by cords attached to stalls and rings
of bronze, and decorated with elephants, tigers, and lions, is the immense
velarium designed to protect the spectators from the sun. No detail is
forgotten. Red panels color the harrier that surrounds the arena ; il is a good
oloi the M 1 will not show! In the background is a door m the form ol
a triumphal arch, crowned bj a chariol drawn by lour horses abreast. By
this door the dead animals and murdered men are dragged away, lor the
endings ol this fierce Roman drama have hut little variet) '
"Beneath the impi rial loge the gladiators, ready lor the contest, make the
cilstomai v salute ; the) ale preceded by their impresario, a kind ol pompous
• Sl > nil \\i> WORKS Of II l\ //.DA G&ROME
comedian, <>t cruel, cunning mien, coquettishly wrapped in his mantle and leaning
like .1 dandj on a slender slick. The gladiators wi ige casques, some with
eyes shielded, others with the visor halt lowered, and others entirely masked,
iccording to the specialty ol the combatants. Their legs are protected 1>\ cne
mides ; a wide bell oi buffalo-leather ornamented with a row of copper coins is
worn like a cuirass, leaving exposed their sturdy chests. Their thighs are half-
covered by a short tunic, girl up so as nol to embarrass their movements; a
light shield defends the lefl arm; the righl arm is protected by laced thongs,
armlets, gauntlets, or iron mittens reaching to the fingers. On their shoulders is
folded the net ol the retiarius, and they brandish aloft the indent with its
keen points. Some ol them have not vet lowered their visors, and one <
their short laces, with the heavy jaws and prominent chin, stamped with
sullen resignation and brutish courage; by their theatrical aliunde, one divines
thai the) are proud to perform before the eyes ol so distinguished a public.
It musi be, indeed, disagreeable foi a gladiator to waste the elegancies oi
his death-agony on empty benches, or on people who are no judgi
" In the opposite comer lie two dead gladiators. ( >ne ol them, tangled m the
meshes ol the net. has noi been able to escape the prongs ol the fatal trident
the other has a deep wound in his breast, tie musi have been loudly applauded,
lor he has fallen in the classic pose so well known to sculptors. In the back-
ground an undcr-servant takes hand fill S ol sand from a basket, suspended from
his bell, lo soak' up the pools Oi blood in which the led ol I lie combatants might
slip; a slave, m a striped tunic, throws his hook at a body and exerts his whole
ih to draw it toward him. Others, preceded by two players disguised as
Mercury and Pluto, drag t heir victims toward the chaineldiouse ; derisive funeral
honors paid to the human form ' A ray of sunlight, placid mockery oi indifferent
Nature, falls precisely upon the bloody funeral procession. All this ceremonial is
to be seen at the bull-fights in Spain ; bill the mules, with their tinkling bells and
multi-colored pompons, have only to drag away the bulls or disemboweled horses.
Man escapes I lie peril b\ In-- brawn and skill."
De Tanouarn gives also an admirable critique ol this chef-d'oeuvre, and adds :
"VitellitlS is well chosen as a personification of that monstrous Roman
civilization, wholly exterior and wholly material. The lusi oi antiquity puffs and
under this shapeless mass ol tat. this gross exterior, swollen like a leather
bottle winch threatens to burst. It is thus that historical painting should be
approached ; it is thus thai an artist, without abandoning any oi the necessary
plastic qualities or omitting the dramatic and picturesque elements ol an action,
elevates bimseli lo the dignity of a moralist and a philosopher. It is incontest-
able thai (ierome is an ingenious painter, learned and profound. lie is a skilllul
and patient searcher alter ideas; he is nol content that his canvas should be
clothed with agreeable images he exacts thai it should think/ Never does he
sei/.e his brushes without a full consciousness of what he wishes to do; if he
he it 'les, it is only as to a choice of the means which will besl render what his
intelligence has conceived."
LIFE \ND WORKS Of //L\ LEOA G&RdMl 87
Beside this exciting spectacle hung a run. is representing a page oi Greek
history which had already furnished Gautier with material for an exquisite
romance 1 le saj s
"Had we noi an ideal which guarantees us against all self-love, we might
In- proud of our little antique novelette, 'King Candaules,' which has inspired
Pradier to make a statue and Ger6me to p tinl a picture. Marble and canvas have
portrayed our Nyssia in a manner far superioi to the text. The chisel and the
brush are worth more than the pi a, especially in such hands and when there is a
question of beauty. Our readers are doubtless .ill acquainted with this bit oi
history, related in the first place by Herodotus. It offers to both sculptui
painting a subjed lull of resources. \1 Gerfimi ha recomposed, with thai
instinct for antiquity which so rarely deceives him, the interior oi thi Graeco-
Asiatic palace inhabited by the King oi Sardia, concerning winch the archae-
ologist has had only vague data. Candaules is lying on a bed of sculptured ivory.
ornamented with bas-reliefs and shields oi gold; upon the walls are drawn thi
mysterious symbols oi Oriental religions; the feet of his statues still remain
unsculptured, in the block of stone from Egypt or /Egina ; strips oi wood are
interwoven to form the door behind winch Gyges conceals himself ; the delicate
feet of Nyssia rest upon the skin oi the Nemean lion, heritage oi Hercules; the
artist has left nothing to be desired save to see the profile oi this woman whose
beauty was so great that her own husband betrayed its sacred perfection. The
form, from which the drapery is just slipping, is exquisite in its divine Mar-
morean pallor."
The moment chosen by the painter is that when Nyssia is disrobing and
making a sign to Gyges to rush forward and kill her traitor husband. This
scene, where offended womanly dignity takes ltspist revenge upon treacherous
sensuality, is treated with the chaste nobility of pose and expression to be found
m all this artist's paintings from the nude, which excite only admiration for the
pure artistic beaut) oi contour and plastic grace, Yet ii is almost a relief to turn
from these themes, that gripe the heart and stir the emotions, to the tranquillity oi
ih Irnauts Playing Chess. The thoughtful countenances bent over the board
air drawn with the perfect skill that has so often been commented on. and which
renders these types with all the truthfulness oi Nature's modeling. The imper-
turbability o! the Oriental character is will illustrated by the attitudes of the
players, who betray no emotion over the game. I '.am or lose? What call it mal-
lei ' " What will be. will be," and they clisipiiet themselves no more as to the Out-
come of the passionless contest than they do Over the smoke that rises sKadih
from the chibouk and vanishes in the air. Idle, with its struggles and aspira-
tions, its joys and agonies, what is it all save a faint fumie now here, now gone '
There is bin one end, resistless, inevitable ' The boast of the king is strangled in
his throai as the poniard is driven home with deadly thrusl , the iron-muscled,
//// AND WORKS Of II I \ I li>\ ■.! RdMl
iron-hearted gladiators succumb aol onl} to Roman cruelt) and power, bul to the
Conqu( nil ,,i ,,|| flesh, and, gasping, cry to him also " Morituri te salutanl i i
Caesar falls and who can tell where he now lies, or trace the "noble dusl oi Alex-
ander"? It is doubly interesting to know whal the artisl bimsell thoughl ol
these creations, thai compelled alike the serious and the frivolous to stop and
admire We return to his notes, where we find allusion
onl) to the two most important in this exhibit. He writes :
"In 1859 I exposed the Gladiators before Ccesar I Mori-
turi), which I consider, with another canvas oi the same
nature (Pollice Verso), as my two best works, The firsl was
looked al sufficiently, bul I do not think n achieved much
success. H hile painting it I had nol al m\ disposition .-ill
tin.' documents that I since have gathered together to work
up the second. It fails from certain archaeological points
<>i view, and in this respect the fault is a grave one; for,
in truth, the gladiators were exceptional beings, who 1
bled in no wise the soldiers ol that period; wearing odd
helmets and enormous arms, offensive and defensive, ol a
\cr\ peculiar charactei and form. In Mich a case, verity <>i
detail is important, for ii adds to the physiognomy and
gives in the people a barbarous and savage cachet, a1 once
strange and striking. I have said before that this painting
was not a very great success, and yet the composition was
new. the dramatic side well represented, and the whole
effect well enough realized the restitution of the circus
with its velum was thoughl out with much care. 1 will say
but little Ol the second. It appeared much later, when I hail asseinlil
possible information that could contribute to its exactness. I think it better
than the first in many respects; it has more oi the accent ol truth, and renders
mine clearly the brutal side ol these Romans, by whom human life was counted
as nothing. At the same time [1859] I senl out from my atelier the Death of
Casar, which some amiable critics have called 'Washerwoman's Da) !' I myseli
am no eiieun oi quiet gayety, and I recognize and appreciate the comicality oi
this joke ; but, all modesty aside, ihis composition merits more serious attention ;
the presentation of the subject is dramatic and original, it is a small canvas.
which could havi been executed on a larger scale without losing its character;
which I cannot say oi man] oi im works."
Commenting on this \cr\ passage, Bergeral says :
"One should read and re-read this confidential page, written so freely and SO
easily, tor it is a model oi impartial, learned, and honest criticism. Il contains 111
a lew words GSrdme's entire 'aesthetics.' Once again, 1 say, every one is not
capable "i thus passing judgmenl on himselt ' Erudition playsa great role in the
QUJ-;iMv\s QUEJVJ DEVOEET
LIFE AND WORKS Of //■ M LEOA GER&M1 *9
work ol the master, and all thai lu- says of the exactness of his casques and armor
tor his gladiators applies, equally, to all the paintings he has signed, especially
during later years. I find the modern naturalism, so peculiar to all the great
minds of our time, in this insatiable passion lor archaic truth which distin-
guishes the productions of this painter. But 1 had always believed that in
Cieronie the ethnographic gifl took the place of scientific acquirement, and thai
Nature had done everything for him. It remains proved henceforth that not
only has he the instinctive sense for the antique, bul that he possesses il a
scholar who keeps posted in all the discoveries of critical history. What distin-
guishes him from the scientist, and constitutes in him the artist, is thai he
subordinates the document to the idea, and not the idea to the document. From
tlii — point of view, the painting called Potlice Verso is not only his chef-
d'oeuvre, hut ,i chef-d'oeuvre. The scrupulous exactitude of the slightest de-
tails contributes so greatly to the effect of the imagined scene that it is
adorned with the certain dcliuilencss which renders a thing absolutely seen so
impossible to forget, so unchangeable, created for all time. It is the ideal of
success in Art.
"It was about this time [adds Bergerat] that Cicrbme presented himself
seriously as a candidate before the Academy, his name having previously figured
on the list as a mere formality."
A certain M. llesse. of whom we never hear, was tin- candidate ol the
Institute as opposed to the progressive party, which was led by the Comte dc
Xieuwerkerke, at that time Superintendent of the Beaux-Arts. Hesse gained
the election by one vote, but (icrome was more than compensated tor this
postponement of the reward due his conspicuous merit, by his appointment as
Professor in the Ecole des Beaux-Arts— a position he still holds through pure
love ot teaching, as the salary is merely nominal and the time spent with his
beloved pupils means to him a financial loss ot many thousands ot francs.
He allowed two subsequent elections to pass unheeded. \ third vacancy
occurring, he consented to -land again and was elected -but. as Claretie observes,
'without concessions on his part." And he adds: "Concessions are unknown
to G-erome! From head to loot he is upright and resoluti
The year [860 was one of intense application and preparation lor the Salon
.,i ,86i and during this year we find chronicled the appearance of only two
pictures, /« Italian Shepherd and the Donkey-hoy of ( airo. In the first one we
davi i picturesque reminiscence of a sunny clay on the Campagna. A passing
flOCk ol sheep follows close at the heels of its guardian, who enlivens the way
with a ritorm Ho on his bagpipes, while his faithful dog, from a corner ol his eye.
keep- watch over the dusty animals, which are painted with a fidelity thai
a Verboeckhoven tnighl envy. Tis a well-worn theme, but Cerome's treatment
redeem- it from the commonplace, and almost invests it with the charm of
originality.
///■/ l\/> WORKS OF JEAN LEON GERdMl
In the solemn, priest-like youth, with classic draperies, who posed for the
Donkey-boy during Genome's first visil to Egypt, we have a perfect type oi this
indispensable accessory oi Oriental life. When not lazily awaiting their patrons,
brigades oi these gamins de Caire may be seen charging through the streets,
yelling vociferously and belaboring the patient bourriquots at every step. We
find an amusing description of these donkey-boys in an account of the hrst sortie
a lane through the streets oi Cairo, which a merry hand under command ot
"Colonel" Gerdme made in i s< > x . As an old soldier on this field ot battle, the
master laughingly regards the half-terrified amazement ot the raw recruits.
among whom is Paul Lenoir, his favorite pupil and inseparable companion during
a long sojourn in the wilderness. It is he who is to embalm their mutual impres-
sions m a volume which delightfully describes this eventful journey through
Egypt to Sinai and Arabia Petraea, ami which is dedicated to the master in the
ti > 1 1 1 . w ing graceful lines :
"l)i\i< Master: Permit me to oiler you these tew notes of a journey
whose greatest charm and value lay m the tact that it was made in your
company and under your kind direction Egypt is your property; tor ll
science and archaeology have been able to reconstruct it by its hieroglyphs, you
alone have translated its admirable light and brilliant animation, which they
could not understand. Recalling the days we passed together in the desert, I
\enture to ask a^ain the indulgence you then accorded the youngest of your
cara\ an
" Your respectful pupil,
"I'm LeNOIK."
Behold this joyous student then, in Cairo, tor the first time, clutching his
reins and digging his heels into his little donkey, in a desperate attempt to
preserve his equilibrium.
"Chmalak ' Ycmmak ' Reglak ' We are rushed into a human whirlpool
from which rises an indescribable tumult, increased by the howls and cries
of these gamins, who. by well-directed blows, urge on our asses till we attain a
rate ot speed positively astonishing and. in view of the crowded condition of
the streets, not a little disconcerting, Cavaliers, carriages, men. women,
children, ilo^s. and long files of dromedaries attached to each other, are massed
in seemingly inextricable confusion
"Chmalak ' Reglak ' Twenty times in our frenzied course a moving cathe-
dral of a cam. I bears down upon our demoralized band, taking up the middle
of the street' Twenty times our marvelous donkeys succeed in avoiding a
collision, which would have been as disastrous lor these little beasts as tor us.
Truly these animals have the instinct of circulat '
\nd not only the animals, but their dusky drivers, who dodge in and out
under the leet ol the horses and camels, never losing an opportunity to bestow
///■/■ AND WORKS Oi II I \ l/n\ i.i.Ai'lll 91
a sounding thwack on their respective asses as they rush wildly on. dis-
playing, it must be confessed, considerable "method in their madness"; foi
the} bring up their patrons at one of the gates leading ou1 oi the city, without
broken bones, bul past all power ol speech, to the intense amusement oi theii
"Colonel," who, arrived the first, tranquilly smokes as he awaits the various
detachments of his disorganized command! lint we must leave for a time
this gay company, of whose adventures we shall later be a daily witness, and
return to the Salon ol 1861, where six varied and powerful canvases gave impos-
ing evidence oi the fertility of conception and unremitting labor of the master.
Timbal comments on this pi I in his career as follows:
"Certain works indicate a culminating point in talent which the artist
scarcely ever surpasses; the Duel of Pierrot seemed such a one. It rapidly
became popular; reproduced by the painter himself, and many times by engrav-
ing and photography, it is remembered by every one lint this species of su
has its danger, and it is often well to look it in the lace, to weigh it. and nol
permit one's sell to be overpowered by it. How many people, without ill-will,
recall it at each new effort, as if it had become impossible for the artist hence-
forth to surpass himself' Gerdme knew how to cope with praise' Besides, he
n in. inhered other compositions of his, less looked at, less piquant in invention,
but which serious critics, and he himself, ranked above the Duel. Indeed, with-
out pretending to diminish in the slightest degree, by comparison, the value oi
this moving picture, we venture to place beside il the simple idyl of The Straw-
Cutting, which seems an illustration contemporary with Herodotus, or a leal
taken from a chapter of the Bible. This juxtaposition proves in Ger6me com-
prehension of Nature, and the flexibility of an imagination which has been
accused oi sterilit) lb roams thus at will m ever) path, halting not more
willingly before a bloody drama than before a field ol wheat gilded by the sun ;
indifferent, it you please, by force of eclecticism, and bewildering the psychologj
ol those who love to confine within certain limits the sensibility ol the soul,
which, it seems to me. should rather receive all shocks and. it possible, rendei
back all harmonies. "
This exquisite pastoral poem oi the Hache-pailU . which so impressed Timbal,
appeared at tin- Salon of [861. Gautier writes of it :
" We greatly love the Straw-cutting in Egypt. Its almost priestly seriousness
harmonizes well with the talent oi the painter \n Egyptian, grave and tranquil
as the melancholy Osiris, guides around, over a circle ..1 sheaves, a car built like
a throne, drawn by two buffaloes and rolling on metal wheels ; behind him, like
an aoeris behind a Pharaoh, is a youth, also in profile. One would pronounct it
a drawing from a necropolis in I'hebes ; and nevertheless il is ,1 faithful sketch
of a living reality. A dazzling sun, throwing its rays over the yellow disk oi
sheaves, which irmiiids US oi the golden circle ol ( >s\ Tnandias silvers the
<i-' UFA l\/> WORKS Of II i\ IK>\ G&RdML
beavens and tints the horizon with rose. What grandeur and what solemnity in
this simple labor oi agriculture! The drawing is as firm as an incision in
granite the coloring as rich as the illumination oi a sacred papyrus."
As further prooi oi the versatile genius oi this greal artist, there hung bi
this Oriental idyl a picture oi Rembrandt Etching in his Atelier, which Timbal
pronounces one oi his besl works, One oi those which with justice should
silence those critics who arc unable to recast their foregone conclusions, and
who, without taking into account the artists claims, or even his progress, con-
tinue to reproacb him for being an archaeologist wandering from his spb
The Rembrandt was a gem oi purest quality, and all the connoisseurs oi the
time were in a ferment oi admiration over this unexpected revelation oi tone-
power. Gautier charmingly describes the scene:
The light, falling from a high window and filtering through one oi those
frames covered with white paper, which engravers use to soften the glare oi the
copper, creeps over the table, touches thi bottles filled with water or acid.
diffuses nselt through the chamber, and dies away in obscure corners in warm.
mysterious half-shadows. Rembrandt, clad in black and bending over the table.
reflects the lighl on a plate in order to ascertain the depth oi the incision. Noth-
ing more. Hut here is genuine mattei foi a painter's brush; light concentrated
on one point and diminishing by imperceptible degrees, starting with white and
ending with bitumen. This is equal in value to am literary or spirituelle fancy,
and Rembrandt himself has scarcely portrayed anj other, in his pictures or his
etchings. The plate which he is in process of biting probably depicts a scene oi
this genre. The Rembrandt is a marvel oi delicacy, transparency, and effect
Never has M. G6r6me shown himself more oi a colorist. This Pompeian, this
painter a I'encanstique, this illuminator of Greek vases, has achieved at the tirst
essay the absolute perfection oi the Dutch masters.'
Still another note in this far-reaching but harmonious chord, that, transpo
into different keys, vibrates with new power and richness. Now it passes into
the minor, and reveals to us the pale, inspired features oi a great representative
ol another phase oi Art.
'•The portrait oi Rachel [says Gautier | is at the same time a portrait and a
personification. Tragedy has blended itself with the tragedienne, the Muse with
tress; draped in red and orange, she stands erect under a severe Doric
portico. Somber passions, fatalities, and tragic furies contract her pale counte-
nance. Yes, if is Rachel sinister, savage, and violent."
De Tanouarn also writes ;
'This portrait has not only the merit ol great individual resemblance.it is
the austere and noble image of Tragedy itself. And truly, Rachel was traged)
incarnate, passing through living realities of the epoch like a pale .mil majestic
phantom."
LIFE AND WORKS Ol f/ IX //.OX GiROMI 95
This impressive canvas hangs in the historic collection oi the Theatre
Francais, and never fails to arrest the eye by its weird and melancholj grandeur.
And now come three scenes from the antique, the firsl ol which, under the
title Two Augurs cannot Regard each Other without Laughing, suggests with
consummate skill the case with which p ■ credulous human nature lias been
imposed on from time immemorial Behind the scenes, these two accomplished
hypocrites indulge to the full their contemptuous merriment, while the awe-
stricken populace without, silently pondering the utterances of the Oracle, obedi
ently submits reason and will to these clever impostors, who, with only a change
of garb and ritual, still number their followers by the thousands in our so-called
enlightened age '
"The Two Augurs," says Scott, in his "Gems ol French An," "entitles
Gerdme to the highest place as satirist as well as painter."
The most hrilliant epoch in Greek histon furnishes the artist with a theme
for his ne\i canvas Socrates Comes to Seek Alcibiades in the House of Aspasia.
■Such [says Gautier] is the title of the second Greek picture ol M. Gerome.
Alcibiades lounging on a conch beside Aspasia does not appear greatly inclined to
follow his master, which can easily be conceived; philosophy is not worth as
much as love above all when Aspasia is the inspiration, A young slave, an
artful, roguish beauty in transparent drapery, tries to keep hack the spouse ol
Xantippe, and on the threshold ol the door an old woman smiles sardonically
In the foreground a magnificent hound stretches himseli out the same dog
whose tail Alcibiades cut to furnish matter for Athenian gossips. No specialist
111 animals could achieve its like. Placed as he is. he gains perhaps too much
importance, but the dog of Alcibiades is himseli a personage and not an
accessory. The background represents an atrium decorated with that antique
legance SO well understood by the artist. It is a restoration, in every sense ol
the word, of an exquisite rarity, and evincing a knowledge that in no wise
ts from the effect. The figures stand out boldly against the architecture,
luminous and gay with many colors, in which one can find no laiill save perhaps
that ol too much richness. Idle Athenians reserved all then luxurious decoration
for their public buildings, and their dwellings were very small ; but Aspasia. the
renowned adviser and later the wife ol Pericles, could well indulge in these
Bplendors."
In the Phryne before ///<■ Areopagus, an equally celebrated and more dramatic
historical episode is illustrated with inimitable power. Some critics ol this period,
jealous ol the tide of admiration which surged in one direction, leaving their
favorites with scanty appreciation, soughl for some means to diminish the general
enthusiasm, and could find nothing better than to assume an .hi oi outraged
modesty and loudly protest against these paintings as being at variance with the
, tchings "I the Christian religion! Their attitude oi offended virtue was so
96 //// ■ A \ (>/■ II i \ /n<\ (,ii:,nii
visibly feigned and even ridiculous, and their position so altogethei untenable,
thai the] were soon silenced l>\ the verdid oi the besl critics, which verdict Time
has confirmed. Bergeral justly rebukes them for their prudery, He says :
" I '.mil. i and .mIih nil ui Antique < rreece, h would have seemed to Ger6me, to
sa\ the least, audacious to ascribe to the conti oi Alcibiades sentiments
\\ In, li Christ did not prea< h to the world till a century after the death oi Aspasia.
He was not responsible for thi fact thai Athenian society admitted the courtesan
as one "I its fundamental elements and regarded her existence as one of their
most serious principles of conservation. M wean interested in Socrates we can-
non Aspasia, and i1 we celebrate the justice oi the Areopagus, we cannot
luitted Phryne on the simple revelation of her beauty a national
beauty, the remembrance and softening influences oi which have survived for
ages "
The painter has well chosen the moment when Hyperides puts the crowning
toui h to his eloquenl defense, and gains his cause by revealing to these worship-
ers oi the religion oi pure beauty the matchless charms oi the Athenian Bute-
player, whose perfect form was reproduced l>\ Apelles in his Venus A-nadyomene
and by Praxiteles in the famous golden statue oi the Temple of Delphos rhi
charge oi impiety and irreverence toward the gods, punishable by death, could
never have been sustained in the face of the incomparable loveliness which, to
Superstitious heathens, was alinosl a prool 01 the divinity Oi its possessor.
The instinctive gesture oi the astonished Phryne, the varied emotions of the
equally astonished tribunal, the triumphant glance oi the successful orator, the
floating drapery every detail is rendered with a skill thai leaves one at a loss
for words that shall bring fitting tribute. The dramatic intensity oi this scene is
given with all the artist's characteristic power, which raises him so far above
contemporarj artists. Criticism has long since ceased to cavil at the subject, and
the Phryne oi Gerome lakes rank with the finest creations oi antiquity and
surpasses them in dramatic grouping and emotional delineation.
In an interesting and original volume entitled Sententiw Artis, by Harry
Quilter, M \ , a well-known English critic, we find the following comparison:
"1 feel inclined to deny true imagination to Mr. Why Because I
should do so to an) man who imagined the body and forgol the soul ; who gave
me the face oi antique life, bul nol the heart. It is not probable thai it any ol
us had aud e with Agrippa, or w itnessed the death ol Cassat , we should think
oi palace- marbles firsl and the living emperor afterward. To use a theatrical
imagi ill. actors in this artist's paintings do nol ' take the stage. Compare his
work in this respect with that ol turonie. In most ol this painter's works, it we
examine them carefully, it will be found that mosl of the effect depends upon
the painting of suddenh arrested action. In nearly ever} picture there is a
UFE AND WORKS OF Jl GEROMB.
•
pause oi action. We bold oui breath, as ii were, to see wliat is coming next.
We can only poinl this oui ; like manj another incident oi arl it cannol be
proved to those who do nol feel it.''
The Fine Arts Quarterly Review, oi London, referring to the Phryne says:
" It is needless to insist on the consummate art-power which in such compositions
attacks difficulties that lessei artists would simplj evade. A hand for drawing,
an eye for both idea] beauty and indi-
vidual character, together with thorough
technical knowledge, arc proved in this
work." And Claretie writes: "In the
smallest picture, in the least oi his draw-
ings, Ger6me shows the hand of the
master. Certain studies taken from
Nature lor his Phryne would form an
incomparable frieze tor the cabinet ..i an
amateur, as finished as any antique."
It was after the Salon of [86l that our
artist, wearied by his immense efforts,
and haunted, waking and sleeping, by
visions from the enchanted "land of the
sun.'' yielded to his passion for travel
and organized a party which, under his
intrepid leadership, penetrated far into
the then little known regions of the
n Desert. His notes furnish us with
a condensed hut graphic account of this journey, revealing anew his keen
powers oi observation and reflection in regard to both physical and mental
phenomena. I Ee writes :
"Aboul this time I undertook another journey to the Orient — to Judca.
Egypt, and Syria. We were seventeen days crossing the Desert of Syria. It was
ill- first time that I had ventured into the desert. Our caravan was well organ-
ized, though not •''' In." \\ e had supplied ourselves carefully with every-
thing necessary to our material existence, above all with Nile water, a precaution
all the more import. mi tni i we took with us four horses, and we were obligi I
to load the wall i these animals were to consume, on the backs ol the camels
twenty-four liters a day, multiplied by seventeen, made 408 liters. Happily
at El-Arich, the last Egyptian station, there was a well when- travelers could
renew their supply. In very lone; crossings, it is impossible to take horses;
besides, camels are admirably convenient, since one is nol obliged to occupy one's
self so seriously with their food and drink, Once arrived al the encampment.
<<S ///./. i\/, WORKS Of //.l\ I IM\ (,//,<>]//
they arc loosed, and they instantly sel ofl in search oi both. Thej always find a
certain flesh) plant, with narrow leaves, the interior ol which contains a certain
humidity, and winch serve al the same time as food and drink. They can there-
fore make several long marches withoul being watered, bu1 they drink dec], when
the) find opportunity. Theii spongj feel arc admirably constructed for the
yielding soil. They spread them over the sand and are thus enabled to sustain
their bea\ \ weight, while the horses and the asses sometimes sink in up to their
knees 1 I n ■ camel is trulj a ^h i i ■ in this deserl sea.
"Nothing could be mon agreeable, more poetic, than our encampments in
this solitude, with its added charm ol novelty and the unknown. Although
fatigued by long marches in the full blaze ol the sun, I began my work with
ardor as soon as the halting-place was reached; bul alas' how many things I
* forced to leavi behind, onl) a bare memory ol which 1 could take av
who prefer three touches oi coloi on a canvas to the most vivid ol memo
But one musl always press forward and lei ones regrets ride en croupe/
" In spite of the charm oi tins desert life, I am hound to say thai al the end
mi ,, certain number oi days, when one catches the firsl glimpse ol cultivated
plains, when one meets again one's fellow-mi is a very sweet sensation ;
and the sight ol a green prairie really green rejoices one amazingly. .Approach-
ing in the direction of Gaza, we passed suddenly from utter barrenness to a fertile
country; there were pomegranates in blossom, orange, lemon, and palm trees;
we found again life and labor in all Us phases hut no gates! Samson had not
returned '
ral leagues from Jerusalem we pitched our tent, tor it was already late,
and we wished to start very early the next day. B\ daybreak we were en route.
hut were suddenly assailed l>\ the most terrible storm I have ever in my life
endured. Al a turning in the road (our road was the lied ot a torrent !) a gust
ol wind almosi overturned m\ horse and me. ami one of my comrades, who,
fatigued by riding, was trying to gel on bettet afoot, was forced from time to time
to i ike oil his riding-boots and empty them, lor the water, running in at his
collar, literally filled them.
"On our arrival, the tempest was still raging ami it was impossible
to pitch the tents on account ot the violence ot the wind. For want of more
suitable refuge, we hastened in to Saint-Sepulcre.'va a horrible state, wet to the
skin and chilled with the cold. Hut we forgol everything before the strange-
ol the spectacle which met our eyes. It was Good Friday, and all
was in a state oi preparation tor the Easter Festival, Pilgrims from all tour
, ol the earth were there gathered, nav. jammed together; sonic sin^-
ing in procession, others silent in prayer; others still, having constructed
tilde lodgings with planks, between the columns, were swarming there with
their wives and children foi a certain curious tradition guarantees a peculiar
blessing from God upon children conceived in these holy surroundings. We
elbowed Armenians. Greeks, (.'opts. Russians, Roman Catholics in a word.
all t bristian sects who came there, not oidv to adore and supplicate the
Mo I High, bul also, and above all, lo declare that tllev execrated each
LIFE AND WORKS (>/■ // i\ i/o\ GERdME 99
other : For in truth it is seldom that these leasts pass by without blood bein •
shed upon the flagstones oi the Temple, and two or three corpses being scattered
on the ground ' Ami then the Turkish regimenl thai mounts guard, fully
armed, crosses bayonets and clears oul the place' In order to avoid this
dal, each of the faithful of late years is searched al the door and relieved ol
his knife and .in > other offensive weapon, so thai now these devotees ol the
Christian religion are forced to fall back on insults, hustlings, and knockdown
blows with the tisi ' I was neaih strangled in one ..i these affrays, which I
found only moderate^ attractive; tor I was nol oi the number (which really was
not small) who, old and decrepit, make long journeys in order to die al [em
salem ami he interred on the banks <>t the Kedron. Those who have religious
sentiments, and wish to presi rve 1 hem unsullied, will do well no1 to \ isil the H0I3
Sepulcher at this time.
"The character oi the country is desolate stones everywhere, scanty vege-
tation, olive trees of rickety shapes twisted by the tempest ; hut it is not a
commonplace country, When one has once seen it. one can never forgel it.
rhe citj has also its own physiognomy: swarming and very agitated at the
ison, gloomy and silent at any other time. An excursion ot li
six days is sufficient to make the tour ol Judea, which is really the banlieue
(suburbs) ot Jerusalem ; everywhere moiirnfulness ami barrenness, even on the
banks ol the Jordan, above ill on the shores of the Dead Sea, 1 1 1 lying in
low ground, in a heavy, burning atmosphere. We passed Lake Tiberias, on,' ol
the spots much frequented l>\ Jesus, and made long stretches, now on hot
back, stopping al Baalbec, within the inclosure or rather the ruins ol the city, of
imposing grandeur, but whose style denotes an epoch ol decadence. The most
curious point there is a very ancient wall, each stone ot which has proportions
so formidable thai one wonders what machinery the Titans oi thai period
possessed, to be able to bring these huge blocks from the quarry.
" Arrival al Damascus alter a two days' march. It was the crown and end ol
mil journey, as Cairo had been the beginning. Damascus! Cairo! the most
remarkable cities o| ihe Orient ; those which have remained longesl untainted by
the impure breath of Europe. 1 speak ol the Ion- ago,' lor since then C.iio. lias
been disfigured, and this Khedive, who has laid his sacrilegious hand on thest
relics, will have a terrible account to render to \llah !
••| worked but little ai Damascus, for I was very fatigued by the journej
In midsummer the heal was tropical, and so much the more insupportable, in that
the city is surrounded by mountains covered with immense trees, which slop Ihe
circulation ot the an and om mffers much during the warm season in sp
the numerous brooks thai furrow the ground in every direction, I was present at
a very curious Jewish least given l>\ a neh hanker, where a large number ol
women were smoking their narghilehs in astonishingl} dicollek costumes,
■ I on rich divans in immense halls of very elegant a i eli i led ii re.
- li. i lo tng these notes 1 want to tell you oi a touching episode which 1
witnessed at [erusali m. Oui k nut one oi his friends, also a cook, in il
vice of some travelers who were encamped close beside us. This friend, who was
IOO ///■/ / VD II .'A'A'S 01 H • \ I I <>\ ,,/ ;
still young, bad quitted Ins home in Bagdad two years before, leaving bis old
mother there alone. At the end of this time, the poor woman could no longer
overcome tin.- longing to see her child. She set off without money, withoul
resources, on foot, attaching herseli to the differenl caravans she met, living on
charity. Mid thus sin- made numerous and painful journeys, seeking ber son.
Bui where shall she look, for she is absolutelj ignoranl of his whereabouts. Is
be in Egypl or Syria or Greece; in Turkey or in Arabia? In Europe,
Am, i. in Africa? She knows not; but, sustained by hue, she walks on!
and still she walks on.
Allah had pity on her and
permitted her to meet ber
well-beloved son at Jeru-
salem."
I >n these same noti s,
hastily jotted down l>\ Hi
artist as ••reminders." Her-
geral comments as follows
" Their autobiographical
interest is thrown into the
shade, so to speak, by their
physiological value, and for
him who knows how to
read and judge a man by
his style, no portrait could
more exactly reveal the
personality ol G6r6me than these few pages of pen sketches. Incisive clearness
ol vision contends here with the taste dominant in the character; ami th(
the two master qualities of the painter. As he writes, he paints ; the philosophy
ol art is the same. Remark how his eye is caught instantly hy the decisive
note oi objects or scenes, that he subordinates surrounding details, and that his
thorough education as a painter aids him to select at a glance the desired effect
out of many." The return voyage was saddened hy the death of one of their
little hand. Duhais, who was sorrowfully interred at Trieste. This lon^ journey
ol eight months was followed in January, t86a, by the marriage oi GerOme to the
beautiful daughter ol Monsieur Goupil, the well-known head of the most impor-
tant art-publishing house in the world. Atur the wedding-journey of two
months in Italy, they returned to the charming hotel which GerOme had con-
structed on the Rue de Bruxcllcs. which now forms a part of their present
i' tdence on the Boulevard de Clichy, In his artistic and commodious home the
ma i' i often recalls with a smile the little servant's chamber under the root m
the Rue St. Martin, which he occupied as a poor Student when he tirst came
LIFE AND WORKS Ol //. ; \ LEOA GEJ 101
to Paris. He <li.ni ^ d allcrwanl to an old house in the Rue de l'Ancienne
Comedie,— the former site ol the Theatre ITaneais, -where he obtained a more
comfortable room directly opposite the old Cafe Procop, so much frequented by
\ oltaire. He was finally able to take a tiny, Obscure atelier, hut slill an atelier of
his own. in the Rue de Sevres, where he painted the famous Combat de Coqs.
The artist who occupied this memorable studio afterward, meeting (ierome one
day. assailed him with a flood of questions as to how he had been 'able to exist
in that black, gloomy, frightful hole I" The master, genuinely surprised, replii d
"I did not have time to notice all that ! It was gay enough for me. foi I
remember we laughed and sang a great deal' From this dark little studio he
went to the Rue de Fleurus, where several of his comrades eame to live with him.
among them Eiamon, Picou, and Schoenwerk the sculptor. From there to the
Rue Duguay-Trouin, then surrounded by open fields, and where his drawing-room
was the street ! for there he received all his visitors when it was too dark to work
and he could not afford lights. It was about this time that he was playfully
accused of living "like a Sybarite"— a good-natured sarcasm which has been
taken au grand serieux by several critics ! The father ol the painter Toulmouche,
one of his best friends, finally constructed an atelier for him in the Rue Notre
Dame des Champs, which he occupied until his marriage, and where he painted
many of his j^reat pictures. Menard ^ives us a graphic description of life in this
gay atelier, an invitation to which was eagerly sought for.
" \1. Gerome's Studio has always been frequented by a '_;reat number of artists
and men of letters. When he was living in his boite-a-the (the name given by
painters to a sort ot Japanese house in which was his studio), he was the center ot
a large group of young men who surrounded him with gayety. In the evenings
there were improvised fetes in which wit and humor made Up for the absence ot
ceremony. The studio was further enlivened by an enormous monkey, whose
only fault was a determination to paint like all those about him ; this, however,
rious, as he was not always satisfied with painting upon his own pictures,
Inn sometimes daubed over the works of other artists! Then there was a burst
of indignation, but the saucy monkey contrived always to get forgiven on account
of his thousand tricks and farces, and to gel the laugh on his own side. There
were several studios for painters in the same house, which, moreover, was near
the Luxembourg, a quarter where artists congregate in great numbers. As
groups ot painters are always formed by a sympathy in tendencies, the friends of
I l ri mine were generally little inclined toward realistic innovations. Then had
been some noise made about some lar^e pictures by M. Gustave Courbet. which,
ii. i without merit, somewhat resembled caricatures, and certain theorists exalted
very loudly the manner of the painter. Naturally, a different opinion prevailed
amongst M. Gerome's friends, and this led to the representation of a parody ' de
circonstance,' acted in the studio, and in which a certain ' Realiste' exposes his
doctrine in these words :
■02 /.//•/■ l\/> WORKS Of _// M L£OA <./,,
" ' Faire vrai, ce n'esl rien pour etre realiste ,
i est faire laid qu'i] faut ' or, Monsieur, s'M vous plait,
Tout ce que je dessine esl horriblemenl laid!
Mi peinture esl affreuse, el pour qu'elle soil vraie,
J'en arrai tie le beau, comme on fail de I'ivraii !
J'aime les teints terreux, et les nez de carton,
Les fillettes avec de la barbe au menton,
Les trognes de tarasque e1 de coque-cigrues,
Les durillons, les cors aux pieds, el les verrues '
\ oil. i le vi\ii I
" This criticism oi realistic doctrines might be somewhat sharp, but it was an
answei i" the sarcasms continually thrown from the opposite camp upon the
.utiM-, who drew mosl oi their subjects from antiquity."
Menard's mention ol the monkey, which was Gertme's property and his
especial pet, reminds us oi a comical stor) that we have from the artist's own lips.
[acques wis an unusually bright specimen and Ins master was indefatigable in
training him, especially in regard to his manners " at table,"where he was often
vi t oi the little company, lie could nol Ik- cured, however, of certain
marauding tendencies, and soon G6r6me was obliged to pay damages in the
neighborhood for uprooted flowers, broken windows, and like mischief, A collar
and chain thenceforth kept M. Jacques indoors and in order. One daw having
succeeded in breaking his letters, he made his way slyly through the open sky-
light into ih.' street. His absence was not remarked, till his empty chair at the
noondaj dejeuner called attention to the fact that he was doubtless en route for
further costl) adventures. Hastily clapping on a hat. Ger6me rushed out in
pursuit, inquiring ol every one he met, news oi his fugitive property, lie traced
him as far as one oi the Grands Boulevards, and there, on turning a corner,
he discovered a crowd gathered in front ol the immense ^lass window of a
fashionable restaurant. Naturallj gravitating in that direction, his astonished
eyes beheld M. Jacques, with napkin decorously tucked into his collar, gravely
seated at a t.ahle where a /• 7, •-,/-/. Vc break last was ill progress, regardless ol the
energetic protests oi the gentleman, or the dismayed shrinking of his fail
companion ating by a furious chattering any attempt on the part of the
convulsed gargons to remove him from his comfortable seat! Repressing his
merriment by a strong effort, Gerfime entered the ca/6, and courteously apol
ogizing for the intrusion of his "familiar," captured the uninvited guest, who
meekly submitted to be borne away amid the cheers and bravos oi the amused
spi . tators '
In spite of the hilarity thai enlivened this period ,a his life, the artist's habits
oi tead) application were too well confirmed to be affected to the detriment oi
III! ixn WORKS Of p ■■ l.\ lit>\ G&Rt 103
his work, and in his more luxurious quarters in the Boulevard de Clichy he
did not alter bis rigid rule of early rising and almost uninterrupted labor till
sundown.
Connoisseurs, and. indeed, the general public, bad learned to look eagerly for
Gerome's exhibit at the Salon, confidenl ol finding the wherewithal to satisfy eye
and hearl the senses and the imagination. The Salon ol 1863 was no exception
to the rule. Varnishing Day beheld a delighted throng almost equally divided
before tour canvases, passing from one to the other with ever-increa
admiration lor the infinite versatility and flawless execution more and more
apparent at each exhibition. Perhaps the longesl pause was made before the
Prisoner on the Nile, one of bis best known Oriental souvenirs. The London
Athenaeum characterizes n as "a marvelous work, one oi the most poetical we
know of and a noble example ol execution," and another writer m the same
review adds, "The picture in question is so brillianl and solid thai its illusion is
almost complete, and thai result is obtained without the sacrifice of any noble
qualities to mere imitation."
Maximo l)n Camp says ;
"The scene takes place in Upper Egypt, on the Nile, not far from the village
of Luxor, with the imposing silhouette of the Palace "i Vmenophis stretching
along the horizon. In several strokes of the brush M. ( ierome has shown
perfectly, to those capable of understanding, the state of Egypt, where a dreamy,
gentle, submissive race is tortured daily by its ancient conquerors, more uncivil-
ized, more vicious, and less intelligent than the vanquished."
I ii.irles Blanc gives a more detailed description ot it :
"The Prisoner is a little masterpiece. Hound, and lying crosswise in an
i nan bark, the captive is borne on the Nile to his final destiny which
doubtless is decapitation by the saber. Urged forward by two oarsmen, one c,l
whom is a strong-armed Nubian, the craft Hies like an arrow ovei th< placid
waters in the twilight. 'The master, girdled with poniards and pistols, broods
over his vengeance, and looks steadily before him with half-closed eyes, a glance
of cruel joy flashing from beneath the long lashes that veil them. It reminds
me ot Richelieu dragging Cinq-Mars off to the gallows in a boat on the Rhone.
Meanwhile, a youth with languishing glance and equivocal mien, an effemin-
ate stripling ot low degree, sings, while thrumming his mandolin, as it chanting
by order a death-song in mockery of the prisoner's sufferings. The heavens are
cloudless; nature calm and happy; the I'haraonic temples embellish the distant
banks of the stream and trace on the still, clear evening sky their solemn and
eternal silhouettes. Yes. this picture is a masterpiece. Nothing should be
changed in it .absolutely nothing ; ne varietur."
Philip Gilbert llanierton bears eloquent witness, in the Fine Arts Quarterly
Review oi London, to the manifold power ot the master. He -
104
///■/■ AND WORKS OI- ji i \ ii,,\ GtedMl
<>-UJ/
Here is a Frenchman who seems to have all the good oi English Pre-
Raphaelism with none of its . QC e. He is as minute as Holman Hum
himself, omitting absolutel) nothing thai ran be told in paint; yet Ins detail,
however marvelousl] studied, is always kepi perfectly subordinate to the mam
purpose. His picture oi the Prisoner represents a boat on tin- Nile with an
unlucky prisoner in il bound hand and foot. The rowers are a wonderful study,
their muscular shoulders and
arms wrought out to the utmost.
'i down to the swelling sinews
"I the wrist, whose strong cords
conduct the power ot the
and chest down to the hands
that grasp the oar. There is so
much masterly drawing in every
bit of this work, such perfeel care,
such loyalty to tact, that you
cannot find one thoughtless touch
m it. The distant shore of the
Nile is a lesson for a landscape
painter ; the polished ripple in
the calm water, and the long
drawn reflections are full of
delicate truth ; the sky rij^ht in
color and painted, it seems, at
once. A curious property of this
picture, and which goes far to
prove its consummate truth, is
that the Spectator has no idea at
first that it is minute work, for
the details, being modest and in
their right places, do not continu-
ally cry aloud See what a multitude we are!' as details are too much in the
habit of doing in England. After gazing at the picture for the minutes we
begin to discover that it is full of minute facts, which we had not seen, and
it we go to the picture every day for a week, we shall always find something
new in it."
\
Timbal takes up the theme as follows:
"It has been said that (icrome contents himself with seizing on the wing
a picturesque scene; thai he transfers it to the canvas without commentary,
without seeking to add any other attraction than th.il nl a vigorously faithful
transcription. However, it would seem that the author of the Duel of Pierrot
can overleap, when he pleases, the limits within which he often voluntarily con-
fines himself, and even when he remains a simple painter ot manners and
customs, he succeeds still in being something more. One evening, walking on
GRAND BATIJ AT BEOUSSA
//// l\/> WORKS Of [EAN IJ.dX <///, 105
the banks of the Nile in the twilight, he was looking a1 a boal drifting down the
river over the silvery, trembling wavelets, Seated in the prow, an Axnaul was
singing to the stars, accompanying bimsell on the quzla. Was not the theme
sufficient? The painter, however, with the interior eye oi his imagination,
beheld there an actor who would double the interest ; on the rower's bench he
extended a pooi slave, his hands and feel closely confined by letters. Blow.
balm} breeze! thou passesl over meadows the prisonei never mor hall tread;
shine, o lighl of heaven! on these eyes soon to close forever; and thou, exe-
cutioner, insult thy victim by voice and gesture! Here are contrasts which
more than one painter could render with equally skillful brush, hut the heart <>i
a poet alone will discm er them, and without having to owe a debt oi gratitude to
the chance which has furnished them !"
The assertion ot \I.1\1me l)u Camp, that, to be successful, G6r6me "must
seen with his own eyes," thai "he imagines \ ery badly bul remembers \ ery
well," is silently bul effectual^ refuted by dozens ol poetical conceptions, among
them tins picture of the Prisoner, which was re-exposed in 1867, Heroine makes
characteristic mention ol it in ins notes; I la Prisoner (now in the Museum
at Nantes) had a universal success, being admired by both connoisseurs and
idiots ' "
In The Comedians, the artist has revived lor us a scene from the earliest
periods of dramatic art the trying on ol mask^ representing every possible
phase of emotion, the use ol winch preceded the cultivation ol facial expression
on the pari of the players themselves. Two actors arc critically regarding the
effect of a most lugubrious mask which one ol their confreres is holding before
his placid countenance. The shelves of this curious antique vrecn-room are
1 with these different canvas visages, on which all the passions ot the soul
seem to bi pi trifled. Truly G6rome can make not only his public hut his actors
literally laugh and weep at will ' The drawing, coloring, pose, and grouping
id details, which ne\er detract from the breadth ot style, are carried to a degree
oi perfection only attainable by a master mind and hand, 01 the Turkish
Butcher at Jerusalem, a marvel of color and finish, which was also re-exhibited
in 1867, Gautier writes i
"Here is a vonih with charming, melancholy, dreamy mien, leaning idly
1 tin' wall of his stall, where the different meal-, arc suspended from hooks,
irele, at Ins feet, lie the hi ids "I his « ICtims, shi ■ p oid -oats, who seem to
: him mournfully from the depths "i their glassy eyes. The butcher is a
genuini fatalist he pav-, no attention to these mute reproaches; he kills with-
out cruelty, just as he would do anything else, and would no doubt as calmly cut
the throat ot a man as of a sheep Surrounded 1>\ thi i lead animals, he
abandons himsell to .1 kief, in which he beholds the v isions of the Thousand and
One Nights. Nothing could transport one morevividlj 10 the Orient than this
little picture, which could he covered by one's hand."
///■/• \ND WORKS 0/ 1 1 I \ L£OA G&ROMI
Moliere Breakfasting with Louis XIV., the closing picture oi this quartette,
as skillful in n ni'iii as u is varied in incident, gives us one oi those
thai reveal Gerdme's peculiar power oi seizing and expressing the finesl nuances
oi emotion. The ironical bonhomie ot the king as be administers this stinging
rebuke to the snobbish prejudices oi In favorites; their surprise and wrath,
I il\ concealed by the majoritj undei an obsequious deference, and openly
displayed by the outraged pillar oi the Church . the mingled dignity, embarrass-
ment, and enjoyment <>i the guest, who can so thoroughly appreciate the
humor <>i the situation, piquant enough to have been taken from one
.■I in- own inimitable comedies, .ill is rendered with matchless ability.
Hamerton writes
" The picture oi Moliere a1 the court ol Louis XIV. is an astonishing piece of
work : so thoughtful, graceful, and refined in. conception, so exquisitely perfect in
lecution. The incident is that famous one when the king gave a lesson to his
proud courtiers li\ inviting Moliere to eat at Ins own table, since they considered
him unfit for theirs. Perhaps Louis was the more honored oi the two when thi 5
sat thus together ' but the courtiers did nol think so. In their view, the king had
lost ill sense oi dignity when he let that playwright eat with him. Every face
is lull oi expression, the Icing's beaming with malicious enjoyment at the sen-
sation lie has just eivateil ; Moliere, already seated, is bending modestly forward,
with his two-pronged fork in his hand, to attack the viands in obedience to the
royal will. The pale bishop in the corner, with the violel vestments, is especiall]
indignant, his lace white with anger and full ol scorn ; hut the king is not in a
humor to he frightened by anybody's cross looks just now. As to the execution,
it is enough to say that everything is honestly drawn, down to the embroidei 5 on
the stockings, with firmness and accuracy, yet no undue emphasis. Every detail
ted patiently and respectfully. There is another picture of precisely the
same incident by a clever painter, M. Leman. His interpretation is lively and
skillful, but a careful comparison ol the two pictures only makes Gerdme's greal
quality more conspicuous. That quality is best expressed l>\ the French wand
distinction. It is more than refinement ; it is consummate grace joined to
perfect knowledge."
notes barel] record the appearance oi these tour pictures, which
created so much enthusiasm, and also mention without comment the exhibition
al the Salon ol 1864 ol a portrait ol a friend, M. A. I'., ami L'Almie, an Oriental
scene, at that epoch more striking from its novelty, hut since become familiar to
the world who thronged to the late I niversal Exposition of 1889, and watched
with amazement the strange contortions of the Khedive's ballet de l'Ofiera,who
came to Paris to capture the plaudits and the gold ol the assembled nations.
Every one who has seen this singular exotic dance can hear witness to the
absolute veritj ol the painter's canvas, Gautier writ
LIFE AND WORKS OE/EAA LEOA GEl 107
"There is always a crowd before the Almie oi M. G i curious picture
which is like a corner oi the Orienl in a frame. En one oi those smoky hovels,
where one takes coffee, squatted on rush mats, an Almie is dancing before some
Albanians with their strange costumes and fierce mien. Dwellers in the Orienl
havi very peculiar ideas in regard to dancing; the sighl oi a well-turned limb
and ankle, or gauzy skirts raised bj a dexterous movemenl oi the fool all this
would seem to them the heighl oi extravagance and immodest] bul provided
that the gold-spangled slipper nevei leaves the ground, they permit thi mosl
voluptuous undulations and puses of the body, sensuous mm ements oi th<
and waving of silken scarfs, languishing glances.and the head rolling from one
shoulder to the other as it intoxicated with love. This Terpsichore, with her
eyelashes stained by k'hol, and her nails reddened by henna, has nothing in
common, as one perceives, with the Terpsichore of the opera The Almie oi \I.
Gerome is executing one oi these dances. Her vestoi yellow satin incloses her
form like an antique cestus, her trousers oi a pale rose-mauve taffetas, wide and
pleated like a skirt, envelop her from waist to ankle. She advances by imper-
ceptible displacements of the feet, undulating the serpentine lines of hei
her head lying on Iter shoulder like a turning dervish in an ecstasy, and keeping
time l>\ a nervous jingle oi her crotales to the chant which the musicians.
m the shadow . .11c droning oui i" ill accompaniment oi the rebeb,\ht tarbouka,
and a dervish's Bute. The Albanians, with their Kelts bristling with a perfect
arsenal oi pistols, kandjars, and yataghans, and wearing on their heads caffiehs,
whost cords and ta-^cls halt conceal their countenano -look at her fixedly, as
impassible as kites watching a dove, while a negro, smiling from ear to ear,
abandon.-, himself to his delight and applauds the dancer while marking tn
her. In the background we perceive the kawadji, occupied with his stove ; at the
left, through the open door, we have a glimpse of Cairo, the blue oi the sky
gleaming oddly through the tine carving of the moucharabys.
"We know to what a point the ethnographic sense is developed in M.
(icrome. No artist seizes as well as he the typical accent of races, the local
character of costumes, the exotic variety of accessories. With respect to all these
points he exhibits an intimate and pi Qi le g ac< urai \ . oi w Inch one could ha\ e
no doubt, even wen one unacquainted with the countries represented by the
artist-traveler. The Almie is oi an astonishing truthfulness in point of type,
md attire Hei bracelets, her strings oi sequins, her gold-embossed girdle,
display the coquettish savagery of Arabic adornment. The toilel is complete .
nothing is wanting, not even the carmine on the nails, the black line under the
-ad the little blue tattooing on the chin. Even in this genre picture, one
divines the painter oi history bj the science of the drawing, the purity oi style,
and the masterly taste which presides over the slightest details."
Idle Salon of [865 was rich in the elaboration of several ol her sketches taken
on Hi,- last journej through Egypl and Syria, notably the Prayer in the Desert,
winch Bergerat justly ranks among "Hie puresl and loveliesl -ems in his superb
Oriental casket." No description can possibly convej more than a shadow oi the
///■/ i\/< WORKS <>/•// I \ lio\ GiROMl
beaut) ni this scene. Up hum the easl comes a seemingly interminable caravan,
reluctantly quitting the coolness ol mountain passes to face the glare of the open
deserl and the level bul still powerful rays ol the setting sun. Here is no
muezzin to warn the faithful that the hour for prayer has come ' yel the warlike
leader, ever mindful oi his oft-repeated duly, has thrown himself from bis horse,
wlio turns quietly t<i nibble at a tufl <>i grass, while his master, lacking the
requisite carpet, unfastens his mantle and spreads it upon the burning sand.
Then removing his sandals, and turning toward the city of Mahomet, he bends
his head and with humble reverence calls upon the name of \llah and bis
Prophet. Ihs lance, carelessly thrust into tin- ground, points like a minaret to
the misty blue heavens and serves as guide to the horsemen who are urging
their weary steeds over the plain toward the bill in the foreground, while the
patient camels move slowly and heavily forward over the endless reaches of
w bile sand which extend to the loot of the dimly outlined range of mountains in
the background. In spite of the color ami movement, here is tin- same intense
stillness, the overwhelming loneliness, the same penetrating sense of distance
and space, of poetry ami mystery, which takes possession of every one who
studies Gerdme's pictures of the deserl. Add to this a religious feeling
thoroughly appreciated and reflected by the painter, and we have one of his
most expressive compositions in this genre. We almost feel that we are travel-
ing with him through this Syrian wilderness, which he faintly outlined for us
in the notes we have quoted.
In the Muezzin at Might, which the Athenaeum praises for its "tone.
softness, solidity, and admirable expression." there is the same strong, genuine
religious feeling, line ion are loneliness and space, but it is the loneliness ol
the night, which intensities all emotion, veils all defects, and reveals beauties
hidden by the midday glare; and space, through which the reverent soul can
upreacb past unknown worlds and touch the Infinite. The unquestioning faith
of the Moslem, as well as the picturesque contour ol his postures while al
worship, deeply impressed our artist and became a favorite theme. In /
on the House-top, he gives us another phase almost as beautiful as those we
have described. Gautier says:
"In this Prayer M. Gerfime has not needed to exert much effort to make a
delicious picture. It is evening; the gold "i the sunset meeting the twilight
azure, produces one ol those greenish blues, like the blue of the turquoisi
i|. lii in and rare tone. The moon faintly outlines its silver crescent, and the
minarets, tapering like ma>i> of ivory, send out from their high balconies the call
ol the muezzin, 'El salam alek, aleikoum el salami' A vague, soft light falls
Upon the terraces ol Ihe whitewashed houses, where the believers. Standing,
kneeling, or with their foreheads bowed upon their carpet, recite theii pi
THE SI
///•/ AND WORKS Ol /I IX i/o\ (,iiio\ll ru
and chanl the glory oi A.llah, the eternal, solitary, and only one, in the solemn
attitudes of Oriental devotion which the artisl excels in rendering. The
impression made by this little canvas is profoundly religious. Alter the work,
the heat, and the dissipation oi the day, the evening descends, bringing to souls
and to Nature, calm, freshness, and serenity. Islam, filled with faith, confides
itseli to God for the coming night."
In the Arnaut, Smoking, we have a picturesque specimen ol an Albanian
taking his ease on a wide divan as be lazilj pulls awa} al his narghiUh, having
kicked ofl his savates, and drawn up his feel under his snow-white fustanelle.
The lighl filters through the lattice-work ol the moucharabieh and touches
11 1 > the long mustachios and swarthy breast, the jeweled handle of the kandjar
thrust into his sash, and the multicolored embroider} ol the cushion on which
he rests his elbow. It is a picture lull ol rich and harmonious tones.
Side by side with these glimpses ol far-away and uni 3 seen in their
native surroundings, we find anothet ol these strange Eastern t} r pes transplanted
into the verj centei ol modern civilization, and presenting one of the strongest
possible contrasts, as to costume and manner, thai history ever furnished lor
a painter's brush. The Imperial choice fell upon Gerdme to render this
extraordinary scene, and, little as il was to his liking, he has achieved a success
where almost any oilier artist would have been obliged to chronicle a failure.
Gautier describes this canvas as follows:
"The Reception of the Siamese Ambassadors at the Palace of Fontainebleau,
of M. t'icromc. keenly piques the curiosity ol the visitors to the Salon, and one
is forced to wait one's turn to see it. Indeed, it i> a strange spectacle, these
ambassadors crawling on all lours over the carpet toward the throne. M.
ne was qualified above all others to depict this singular scene: be bas a
profound knowledge oi exotic races, and a marvelous grasp ol their peculiarities
and dispositions. Picturesque ethnography is ol very recent date, and is
the modern conquests ol ait.
" When the old masters had foreign subjects to paint, they contented
themselves with types ot pure fantasy, and local color did not trouble them in the
slightest degree. These deceptions are no longer admissible in our time oi
exact information ami easy travel. Nothing can he more fantastic than this
procession ol swarthy creatures, robed in costumes glittering with gold and
embroideries, which advances on hands and knees, in postures impossible to
European articulations, toward the Emperor and Empress, whose kind gravity is
maintained despite the odditj oi n le. 'in the steps ol the throne are
deposited imperial parasols, stuffs interwoven with gold, delicate fori ign jewelry,
and all the fanciful luxin j oi thi extreme Orient, One cannol sufficient^
appreciate the exquisite cue and exactness with which the artist has rendered
the figures, costumes, and jewels oi the strange embassy. In front is a youth
with shaven head, complexion of gold, and eyes like black diamonds, who is
112 LIFE AND WORKS Of // l\ I i:o\ GE.ROMI
creeping along so gracefully, and lifts his bead with so droll an air, thai ii is a
pleasure to look al him. One would say it was a Cupid, who, through caprice,
has disguised himself like a grotesque l>ii ol Chinese porcelain,
"Beside the carpel which is being traversed by the Siamese notabilities in
these batrachian attitudes are the great personages of the court, the famili
the Ch&teau standing erect, calm, grave, disguising a half-smile under their
official seriousness, each faci being perfectly recognizable. The maids of honor
to the Empress are grouped near the throne. A.1 the other end oi the hall, in a
corner near the edge of the canvas, the artist, a necessary witness of the scene.
has represented himself as standing next to Meissonier. The frescoes of Prima-
ticcio, discreetly subdued to give mon value to the leading motives, are visible
in the half-shadow oi the background, which they people with their vague sil-
houettes. It would be difficult to treat this quainl subject more skillfully than
M. Ger6me has done. It the glittering and gilded costumes of the ambassadors,
with then Asiatic richness, nuke the tamiliar European attire appear insignifi-
cant, the blame must not be laid on the artist's palette. The abruptness ot
contrast was inevitable."
As Gautier remarks, all of these officials that surround Napoleon 111. and
the Empress Eugenie are easily to be recognized by any one familiar with the
entourage of the court at this epoch; but the difficulty under which Gerome
labored in painting these portraits can scarcely be conceived by the uninitiated.
It is partly illustrated by the following anecdote, related by Timbal, for the
absolute verity of which we have heard the mister \'ouch more than once.
lino day, one ot the personages to whom was assigned the honor of ti^-
uring m the picture of the Ambassadors, arrived very much later than the hour
indicated by the painter. ' Impossible to have you pose to-day.' said the artist,
a trifle \e\ed at this carelessness and the loss of time; 'I am expecting the
Duke of I'— ; he will be here at three o'clock, and il is now ten minutes "I
three.' 'Oh. well!' replied the delinquent, with nonchalance, 'you ha\
minutes! work quickly, for I shall not be able to come again!' Alter that.
accuse portraits of lying or the painters oi want oi fidelity or skill."
The same steady, quiet work went on during this year and the next, pro-
ducing for the Salon of [866 three canvases, the most important oi which,
Cleopatra ami Ccesar, has achieved a world-wide renown. A paragraph from
Plutarch's Life oj Caesar furnishes the key to this marvelous picture: "Cleo-
patra embarked in a little boat and arrived by nighl before the Palace ol
Alexandria. As she could not enter withoul being recognized, she wrapped
Ii. rst II in a carpel which Apollodorus bound with a thong, and which he caused
to be conveyed into the presence of Caesar by the verj door of the palace. This
ruse "I t leopatra, it is said, was the Inst ball hv which (.'.esar was taken."
The exquisite form ot Cleopatra, rising from the folds of the beavj rug
LIFE AND WORKS OF //./.\ /./'.OX GERdME 113
like Venus from the billows of the sea, is bfoughl into strong relief against the
swarthj skin oi the slave who lias borne in on bis sturdy shoulders this living
freighl of fragrant beauty. \n appealing glance from the mournful ryes of
Egypt's vanquished Queen meets the astonished gaze oi Cassar, as be lifts his
head from the manuscript be is perusing and ill 1-- said ' The picture is
fraught with suggestion, fascinating the eye tti.it loves to linger over beautiful
contours, and. still more, one that can read between these eloquent lines. This
canvas was also exhibited in 1N71 at the Royal
Vcademy in London, of which Heroine wis
made an Honorary Member.
We bave already alluded to the Door of
the Mosque El-Assaneyn, where Salek Kachei
exposed the heads of the rebel beys he had
put to death, which appi art d also
hi 1 ... (ierome here indulged his
. .! fun by giving to se\ era! oi
these heads the features of some
well-known 1'arisians who bad not
made themselves particularly agree-
able to him ' A prominent critic
lied him for his frivolitj .
but the joke was hugely enjoyed
by the public and especially by his comrades, who th (roughly appreciated this
good-humored and artistic revenge. This canvas was also re-exposed in 1867.
There are more than four hundred of these mosques at Cairo, this one ol
a, or El-Assaneyn, or El-Hacanin, as it is indifferently called, being the
largest and most elaborate. I.enoir. who visited it for the first time with
(ierome. refers to it as follows
"The mosque is. par excellence, the rendezvous oi prayer; according to its
importance it corresponds to out cathedrals or to the simple countrj church.
The minaret is its steeple. I torn whence the muezzin summons all the faithful
to prayer by the languorous chanting of several verses from the Koran. The
always elegant cupola oi these edifices corresponds to the site ol the tomb ol the
caliph, sultan, or rich personage who has constructed the building. Varying a
little in their interior arrangement, they are nearly all constructed in the same
manner : a large, square court with its perist} le. 111 the center ol which is the pool
for ablutions; in the sanctuary, called the tnihrab, a sort of richly ornamented
cvhos' Gothic niche is invariablj turned toward Mecca, stands the menber
or preacher's chaii which is of ten a real chej d'eeuvre oi 31 ulpture and decoration.
I hi Mosque ol the Mameluke Sultan llass.m dominates the entire city ol Ci .
by its colossal proportions and absolutely purr Vrabic style, it is undoubtedly the
M) /.//■/ i.\/> WORKS, Ol /!l\ il<>\ G&ROME.
mosl beautiful mosque in the whole Orienl ; neither St, Sophia, nor all the
massive edifices oi Constantinople, can be compared to it. It is situated in front
of the citadel on the Place Roumelieh. A door, the height of the building, leads
into it trout a lateral streel which runs into the Place. Marbles of every shade,
connected l>\ arches, and ornaments of bronze set on the elegance ol this
principal entrance. Thousands oi stalactites, forming niches, stretch up half the
entire heighl and gracefully melt awaj where < rossbeams ol carved wood sustain
.1 wondrous collection oi lamps of glass and ostrich eggs, m. lil\ colored.
" We go up several steps and then descend several others, finding ourselves
on the same level in a long galler] adorned with stone benches on either side.
It is the antechamber of the mosque ; al the extremity oi the imposing hall are
stationed cawos and guards. This mysterious and terrible prelude only renders
more striking the marvelous spectacle which confronts our immediately; an
immense court, in the form ol a Greek cross, is occupied in the center by a most
picturesque Saracen structure. Sustained by columns ol porphyry, and sur-
mounted by a brilliantly decorated cupola, this little octagon pavilion serves only
to shelter the pool for ablutions. Opposite the entrance a colossal arch tonus a
vault, a smaller repetition ol winch is indicated on the other side oi the
court ; it is the sanctuary, erected one sic|i higher than the rest oi the i
Ai the ends oi long chains, thousands oi lamps seem to descend from heaven and
i from afar the appearance of a shower, or a trellis suspended in space. At
ill- bottom, and always turned toward Mecca, is the mihrab, richly ornamented
with precious mosaics, paintings, and arabesques.
rhe preacher's chait is equally a masterpiece of sculpture. Green, red, and
yellow flags brought hack from Mecca, hum trophies ol brilliant colors on each
side Innumerable votive offerings are covered with a medley ol objects .md
inscriptions. On each side, large square platforms, less high than the menber,
serve as stalls fot the ulemas and young dervishes, for whom these place:
exclusively reserved. Finally, mattings and rich cupels cover the remainder oi
the marble pavement and preserve the feet oi the faithful from contact with its
glacial surface. The colors winch preponderate in the general ornament
ol mosques are green and red. agreeably alternated in arabesques and many
other designs. The religious inscriptions are generally painted in blue or golden
characters, on immense hoards, with a green background. When new, this
superb mosque could certainly not have possessed the mysterious poetryit has
to-daj . and. without heme a lovei of uncleanliness. I believe that tunc alone can
blend so marvelously these colors winch originally must have been \er\ glaring.
\l the right of the mihrab, a little low door, concealed by a black curtain
embroidered with gold, gives access to the immense chamber which corresponds
to I he exterior cupola. Il is here where the tomb of the Sultan I lassan is placed ;
a grating of forged iron and a second barrier of painted wood isolate this square
stone from the rest oi the hall, which is in a most complete state ol nudity and
Looking up into the air, one is terrified by the height of the vault.
Enormous stalactites garnish the angles to the point where the Gothic form of
the dome commences to accentuate itself, giving to this cupola the aspect ol an
/.//'/■ I \ l> WORKS Ot II M LJtON GSrOME 115
immense hive, where the owls have installed a clamorous colony. Every day a
pari oi these wooden decorations and massive sculptures detaches itsell and
falls wiili a crash, Far from trying to prevenl this danger, the \rabs consider
11 .1 favor to be struck l>> one oi these celestial tiles, which will send them
straight to Paradise, The sheikh, who rather doubted our religious fanaticism
and our eagerness to see the Prophet, invited us nut to prolong our visit to this
locality, exposed .is we were to the caprice of these sacred showers.
"The dominating impression in a visil to the mosques is the exclusively
religious and almost poetic charactei oi these buildings. They are not oui
smari Parisian cathedrals nor our imitation Greek temples real theat
devotion at the hours of service. Seeing all these Arabs, silent and grave,
prostrate themselves before the wall ol the mihrab, I could not help thinking oi
my dear parish oi the Madeleine, where the one o'clock i i embles so nearly
a. premiere at a theater, that some people actually give up the races at Long-
champs to attend it ' At Cairo, there is fanaticism, it you please, hut true
religious faith, and its manifestations here have aoneoi the elegant and frivolous
piet} "i our Catholic mosques. The beadle and the pew-openers have n
tige in the Orient, and equality before God is there scrupulously observed; the
dirtiesl donkey driver invokes Allah on the same carpet as the most richly
caparisoned sheikh. To laugh, to blow one's nose, or to sneeze would entail the
most serious consequences upon the offender, and Heaven knows it we deprive
ourselves at home ol these diversions | i assisted several limes at the reading
Oi the Koran, hut I never saw any one asleep. St. Paul Innisell could not
achieved a greater success!"
The Muezzin, which hung beside the picture of this beautiful mosque,
shows the sheikh standing ^\\ one ot the balconies of the minaret and sending
out his call to prayei over the city.
'I"he Exposition Salon ot [867, besides affording a second glimpse oi the
pictures we have before described, contained four new canvases in which the
artist again displayed the surprising range and depth ol his powers. The most
prominent was the Death 0} < Cesar, the first sketch of which, -.ecu by Gautier in
the painter's atelier, is described as follows:
"Nothing can he more singular and striking than the Death <>/ Ccesar,as
yet only a sketch, hut where already the entire intention ol the painter can he-
read. It is antiquity conceived alter the manner of Shakespeare. The scene
must have taken place thus' The bodj "I Caesar a real body, rolled in 1
bloody mantle lies at the fOOl ol the Statue Oi the great Pompey, the pedestal
bein^ stained in his effort to hold himscll up by it.
"Appalled by the murder, and fearing to bi compromised, the senators have
taken flight, with the exception of one obese old man who has gone to sleep in
his i in-ill, chin; grown heavy and dull through excessive indulgence in good
cheer, hi 1m heard nothing through his profound slumber and has no idea of
what has taken place. Imagine the scene! In the foreground, al the left of
u6
//// l.\/> WORKS Of J I I (.I.KOMI
the spectator, in the corner oi the canvas, lies the bodj <>i the fallen Caesar ■ at
the right, several rows "I empty chairs, some ol them overturned in the pre-
cipitation of flight. In the background, through the open door, the backs of the
il. eing senators, who jostle each other in their haste . a little nearer the front, the
group oi conspirators waving their swords and withdrawing, now that then- task
of murder is achieved. Brutus, passing before the statue ol Rome, which forms
the pendant to thai ol Pompey, hall turns and
easts a melancholy glance behind him ; he
teels already that he has committed a useless
crime, ami the Tu quoque, Brute,' pierces
his soul. Liberty was dead before he killed
Cesar' Truly this is a bold and romantic
manner ol treating this most classic ol sub-
jects. Never did a scene in history appear
moie real. II photography had existed in
Caesar's day, one could believe that the picture
was painted from a proof taken on the spot.
at the very moment ol the catastrophe."
" The Death ol (asm- [says Mrs. Sirana-
han in her admirable "History ot French
Painting"] is perhaps Heroine's grandest, as it
is certainly his severest work. The adequate
and impressive conception ol the subject,
the learned presentation ol it. and the skill
oi technique in depicting it unite to form its
completeness. Hegivesit in two pictures : in
one (1859) the body lies alone; in the other
< 1 s< j 7 >, more dramatic, the senators, one alone retaining his seat, are hurrying
away as by an irresistible impulsion. But the nearly empty senate chamber
is lull of historic suggestion as it is also of artistic success."
A careful study of this great work leaves one so thrilled by its dramatic
side, its potent memories, and subtle Suggestions that we wonder with wdiat
eyes M. Charles Blanc has regarded it. when he remarks that in this picture
" the passions to be expressed are sidled under archaeological science!" Truly,
1 Ik historical accessories are carefully and accurately grouped, bui the interest
unconsciously and Utterly centers itself in the emotions ol the principal actors
in this tragic scene, and in the analysis of the feelings of these quaking con-
spirators, hastening from the presence ol this great soul, who in death still retains
his power to awe. and before whose lifeless body the most daring tremble and
tlee. We well remember (ierume's satisfaction when informed that the greatest
Shakespearian actor ol our epoch Edwin Booth has reproduced his wonder! id
picture in the stage Betting oi thi third act of Julius Ccesar, in which he gives an
ideal impersonation ol Brutus. No greatei testimon) to the perfect distribution
SPRINGTIME
i ARABIA)
/.//■/. AND WORKS Of // L\ //.o.\ <,/,
i r
of dramatic, artistic, and historic values on this canvas could be desired than
that furnished by this fat I
Beside this chef-d'oeuvre hangs another whose pathetic beauty sinks deep into
the soul and rouses a feeling ol indignanl sympathy thai blurs the eyes which
Look, and turn to look again and again.
" Ger6me's Slave-Market [says Maxime l)n Camp] is a fad literally repro-
duced. When the djellabs return from their long and painful journeys cm the
Upper Nile, they install their human merchandise in those greal okels which
extend in Cairo along the ruined mosque ol the Caliph Hakerc ; people go there
to purchase a slave as thej do here to the markel house to buj a turbot, Seated
on mats in the shadow ol the galleries, with their nudity scantilj concealed l>\ a
few greasj tatters, th< negresses await their purchasers, dozing, or braiding their
hair in the thousand little plaits that form their coiffure. The higher-priced
women, those from the plateau ol Gondar and from the countr} ol Choa, are shut
up in separate rooms, away from indiscreet eyes h is one ol these worn
Abyssinian, whom M. Cicrdme has taken as the principal personage ol ln>
composition. She is nude, and the djellab who has charge ol her lias the head
of a regular brigand, accustomed to all manner oi violence and abduction; the
conception ol an immortal soul has never troubled the mind ol such a bandit!
The poor girl stands submissive, humble, resigned, with a fatalistic passivit}
vcrv skillfully ! by the artist. \ man surveys her and looks at her
as one inspects those ol a horse, and appraises the merchandise with the
distrustful glance peculiar to the Arab. Two or three persons in beautiful
costumes complete the principal group. In the inclosed background one
perceives other slaves scattered hero and then
When wi are imallv able to tear ourselves away from tins wonderful and
touching scene, a masterpiece o( sentiment, drawing, and color, we find another
lui oi Oriental Life awaiting us in the Vieux Warchand d' Habits.
" The Clothes Merchant | says \l. I )u Camp [ is one oi those old men, numbers
of whom exist in Cairo, who retain old customs, refusing absolutely to wear the
tunic or the tarbouch, remaining faithful to the ancient turban ol white mous-
seline and to the wide robe with its ample folds, -seeming themselves to be
an itinerant curiosity, strolling through the streets and crying their bric-a-bra<
When they meet a European, thee hah. and with an engaging smile they offer
a hachette, or an old poniard, saying, 'Antica, Mameluke, bono, bono!' This one
of M. I'icrome. carrying on his arm some lovely old rose-colored garments, oilers
a saber to an \inaiil, who is very near allowing himself to lie persuaded ; a group
has gathered near the merchant and each oni is giving his opinion. In the
background is a shop near which a reddish-colored dog is crouching in the pose
of the jmd Anubis, and one catches si.^lit of two women enveloped in white
mantles who are entering their house.
Il8 \ND WORKS 01 // ■ i.\ //i>\ G&ROM&
"Gerflmehas seized en route, with great felicity, the differenl types of the
Orient. The Arab, the Skipetar, the Turk, the Barabras, the Syrian, can be
recognized al the firsl glance, and in the ethnographic expression of his person-
ages he is always correcl (a1 leasl unless he attempts some jest, as he did last
yeai with the heads heaped up in front oi the Mosque of EUHaganm)."
One more Eastern seem- completes the list. The Chess-players, a small
canvas which forms pan ol the famous collection inherited by the late Sir
Richard Wallace from his father. Lord Hertford.
The autumn of [867 beheld Ger6me again enroutetor the Orient, this time
forajournej oi greatei length and range than any he yel had undertaken. We
have already referred to it in quoting from the volume written by his"Fidus
Achates," the wittj and lovable Paul Lenoir, who was to be the chronicler ol
this grand tour.
•' Embarked upon the steamboat at Marseilles, all was excitement with the
younger members ol the party when the mists slowly lifted from the horizon
and the coast ol Africa revealed itself like a long golden straw floating in the
distance. Their imagination getting ahead ol the vessel, they vied with each
othet m heme, the first to discovei the mosl imperceptible objects. Do you sec-
Do y on see that.' They are palms! No! they are camels !— No, again—
for they were only windmills!"
Arriving finally at Alexandria. Adha-Anna, who had been Gerdme's cook
on his lirst trip to Egypt, took chargeof all the baggage and left the travelers
free to roam through the narrow streets where, says l.cnoir :
" Everything seems to roll like pebbles in a torrent ; your toes are trodden
on through principle, and you are hustled and jostled through religious con-
viction; the dromedaries, asses, and horses appropriate the best part of the paved
road and the foot-walks ; the rest of the street is generously abandoned to foot-
passengers, to the women who. wrapped in their long blue draperies, either carry
enormous burdens or drag along with a garland oi children hanging in clusters
among their ra^s and tatters.
Alexandria is the inevitable antechamber of Cairo, as, in a badly planned
apartment, one is forced to pass through the kitchen in order to reach the
drawing-room! Endless avenues oi tamarisks and lemon trees shade the banks
of the Grand Canal ol Malimoudieh, and the blues, reds, and yellows of luxurious
villas offer a charming contrast to the thousand tints of the exotic vegetation,
from the pearl-gray of the aloe to the emerald-green of the banana. The slender
masts oi the long dahabiehs seem to touch the sky as they glide along towed by
an odd milange of animals ; now a camel and an ass are harnessed together, now
a shapely horse- and a heavy, clumsy buffalo. To-day there is a railway by way
..I Damanhour; the houses, built of earth or dried brick, lean airainst each other.
and one can scarcely decide where tin village ends and the count n begins, so
///■/■ AND WORKS (>/■ // l\ l£0A G&RdME. 119
uniformly gray is the earthy color. Farther on, the aspect oi the country
changes and one is conscious of penetrating to the hearl of Egypt. Enormous
fields of grain recall the low-lying fields in Holland, save thai here and then
snowy herons furnish a luminous poinl in the general monotonous tone
of green.
" An infinite variety of birds darl pasl ; everything, from the diminutive lap-
wings fluttering about like Augusl butterflies to the noisy sparrow-hawks and
strong-winged eagles.
Arrived at Cairo, G6r6me organized a goodly caravan, composed, as w<
from bis own notes, of twenty-seven camels, including ten dromedaries, which
earned the artists and their servants. While the preparations were being made
for the desert journey, ( airo and the vicinity were thoroughly studied from the
artist's point of view, and the pictures elaborated from the sketches lure taken
prove a perfect panorama of Oriental life, to which the notes oi master and pupil
furnish a piquant commentary. What seemed greatly to amuse the latter were
the little beasts oi which Gerdme has given us so good a type in his Ane Egyptien.
While the master paints, Lenoir embodies their reflections as follows:
•The ass plays too important a rdle in life at Cairo and throughout the
Orient not to merit the honor ol a zoological digression. hi the first place, my
ass was not an ass' |i was properly speaking the bourriquot of Cairo, a quad-
ruped ol a special nature, which should not he confounded with the beast oi
burden, the common ass. The bourriquot is as lively, adroit, intelligent, and
indefatigable as his brothers of Montmorency are vicious, lazy, and obstinate.
The ass is not only the first friend vim make in the Orient, he is also the hest
pail "I shoes VOU Can buy! lor you only use your hoots when you throw them
under the bed. Always mounted on an ass. .1 horse, or a dromedary, the cus-
tomers ot St. Crispin economize here astonishingly in shoe-leathei We lived,
so to speak, on an ass, during our whole expedition in the province oi Fayoum,
jusl as, during the two months in the Desert of Sinai and at 1'etra. we lived
on a dromedary."
We have already laughed over the first wild rush through the narrow sti
ro, hut the little hand did not always ride al such breakneck speed. Every
novel effect of color and form, of pose and grouping, was caught by keen eyes
and without delay transferred to the ever ready canvas:
" In the more aristocratic quarters, the passing ot camels is prohibited by law.
and here wealth) inhabitants dash to and fro in handsome, spring} baroi
preceded by runners richh costumed.
"On every side we see the admirable sculptures in wood, which, under the
form of moucharabiehs, serve as windows and ventilators to the eleganl resi-
., arches surmounted hy terraces, fountains of rose-colored marble, niches
////■ imi WORKS Ol- //■ l.\ l£OA G&RdMl
adorned with paintings, slender pillars in every species of granite, carved bal-
conies, doors mysteriously ajar, each furnished with an almost imperceptible
veilleuse and piquing our curiosity to the highest degree."
Ger6me gives us a glimpse oi one ol these Eastern houris who was not so
averse to being seen, in his Almie at the Window of her Moucharabieh. Each
ramble furnished him with half-a-dozen motifs for canvases that have never
been hung at any Salon and the
greater part of which have never
even been seen by his country-
men, since eager amateurs have
invaded his ateliei 3 and i arried
them oil to distant lands almost
before the paint was dry. One
oi the favorite points oi rendez-
vous was the Gate of Babel-
Nasr, the most beautiful of the
seventy-two gates which adorn
the walls oi Cairo.
" By its eleganl architecture
and historic associations it well
merits admiration and attention.
for it was through this gate that
( ieiieral Bonaparte passed on the
29th of July, 1 798, the day after
the battle ol the Pyramids. It
was the first study that Gerdme
made on his first visit to Cairo.
Planked by two enormous square
towers, this door presents an
appearance at once imposing and gracious, through its colossal proportions and
the sculptured ornaments that make it a real work of art. Two doors, literally
covered with iron, close the entrance to this warlike construction. Beneath
the arch a military post is stationed, whuli Clonic has immortalized in his
Arnauts oi Cairo. Assuredly they arc there from love ol ornamentation and
to please us painters, for. studying tins group of soldiers decked out in brilliant
costumes, one is tempted to question their strategic utility as regards the secu-
ii\ oi the city. While awaiting a new conquest of Egypt by no matter whom,
decorative soldiers, these sentinels oi comic opera, have no other orders
than io stop the photographers whom they would honor with their confidence.
•• Their costume, artistically loosened, their luxurious arms as brilliant as
they are inoffensive, their proud, disdainful attitudes, their slightest gestures,
everything about them seems to have been carefully studied.
Till GRAND WHIM I l\l c II.
I III. AND WORKS, OF JEAN LEON Ci.ROMl \i$
"Nothing, however, can be more natural than these interminable Greek
mustaches which divide the face in two, like two enormous buffalo horns, and
which form the greatest ornament of these energetic faces bronzed by the sun.
The mustache, which has nothing of the Arabic in principle, is a sign of
Albanian origin in the Cairene soldier. The Arnauts, this Greek militia
imported into Egypl by Mehemet-Ali to contend against the increasing impor-
tance ol the Mamelukes, inaugurated at Cairo both the fustanelle and the
mustache, the effect ol which they heightened by wearing the richest stuffs they
could find in 1 1 1 1 -> country which they had invaded. It was an innovation in a
land where the heard is in high esteem, and when- the respect due to a man is
graduated according to the length <>t this ornament. A soldier amateur, the
Arnaut plays his role with ease, and becomes an indispensable hit of furniture at
the door ol a mosque or the entrance of a palace, with a do/en pistols and sabers
artistically enlaced in the compartments ol a wide belt of red leather, which
^ives him the appearance ol a walking bazaar. His pipe, tobacco, and food find
also a place on this vast itagere lie is fully conscious ol his interesting
appearance and, in order not to disturb a single one of the arms in the museum
lie carries on his stomach, lie keeps ready a tremendous courbache, which holds
both enemies and admirers al a distance. The courbache is a long flexible
wdlip ol hippopotamus hide, which combines the pliability of a whip with the
precision ol a stick. It is the indispensable scepter which obtains everything,
regulates everything, and decides everything, when bake hie h has become power-
less io settle a delicate question.
\ strange feature in these surroundings, which differed so essentially from
Occidental scenes and customs, was found in the cemeteries which lav outside
ot the city, veritable forests of little whitewashed tombs, each ot them consisting
Of a large flat stone laid upon an entablature of one or two steps at the most.
The principal stone, forming the body of the tomb, is saddle-backed. At one of
the extremities is erected a column, or a simple oblong stone, sculptured accord-
ing to the importance ot the deceased or the fortune of the parents. The end .it
this stone, generally very rudel} em. represt nts the coiffure ol the <le.nl, and the
white ball, surmounted by the little tinted case, is nothing but the turban of the
proprietor, in marble or imitation stone, according to the rank ol the defunct.
On several tombs, more carefull) decorated than the others, remains of palms and
votive offerings could be distinguished. Sometimes we saw women draped in
long blue veils crouched near a tomb, their factitious si.idis and methodical
swaying imparting a savage tone to their manifestations of grief. Sometimes
simply seated, at otluis literally extended lull length on the stone, they seemed
to speak with the dead. An idea of tins singular conversation may be gathered
from the following phrases : 'Is God great? Dost thou see him' Art thou
happ} ? Await me dost thou hear ?' and so on interminably, for the defunct are
generally discreel enough not to replj !"
tierome's two pictures of Tombs of the Sultan >i/ Broussa give one a perfect
idea of these strange sepulchers, before which a sheikh recites, at intervals,
scribable elegance of their Saracen archi-
oblong cupolas ol almosl P
124 mi AND WORKS Of // l\ I /'.ox G&RdMl
tions from the Koran, keeping up a sort oi perpetual prayer, burning candles and
incense according to the rank of the deceased, The City of Caliphs, improperly
called ihc\.illi\ ..I Tombs, has furnished him with materials for many inter-
esting paintings.
" Its minarets and domes group themselves with the premeditation oi a
theatrical decoration which desires to surpass the most extravaganl expectations.
The multitude ol these monuments, seemingly leaning againsl each other by
reason oi the marvelous perspective, which
permits us to lake them all in at a glance ;
the vaneH o| their dimensions, the mile-
forms; these graceful minarets, each storj
ol which reveals marvels of sculpture; the
gilded crosses which surmount them, the
luts oi faience sparkling in the midst ol
arabesques ol marble all this transported
us to a former world, and we almost
expected to meet Saladm on an elephant
at some turn in the ancient cross-roads !
"Everything in this spol confirms the
sentiment ol religious admiration which
has taken possession ol us: the solitude
oi these almost abandoned mosques, the
uncivilized character of the clay houses
that surround them, and even the types
oi the lew inhabitants seem to conform
to the style oi that magnificent Mussul-
man epoch under which wire produced the most beautiful chefs d'eeuvre ol
Byzantine art interpreted by the Arabs.
"It wasnotCairo.it was Bagdad suddenly transported into Egypt to console
the painters who were not to have the happiness ol going as far as the ancient
capital ol the Caliph I laroun-al-Raschid.
" In the interminable row of monuments, each more graceful and admirable
than the oilier, the lirsl mosque we approached was I li.it ol F.l-.\chraf. Its
ruined interiors still present .1 mosl interesting and almost complete ensemble.
The little carved pulpit where the Koran was read is still intact, sheltered as it
is 111 one of the angles of the principal hall. To a height of several meters the
walls are decorated with inlaid work and mosaics in exquisite taste. Higher up,
these luxurious decorations are supplemented by sober paintings, the charming
designs of which are fully equal in detail to all the other Arabic ornamentation.
A slight recess in Gothic form oilers the richest decoration in the whole mosque.
This veritable abside is not indifferentlj placed, but corresponds to the direction
ol Mecca, and it is there the sheikh begins the dull and drowsy intoning of the
LIFE \ND WORKS OF II :l.\ ll<>\ GE.ROME 125
prayers or the reading o< the Koran. Thi irved pulpit is placed al the right oi
this sanctuary, where there is no altar, but simply a great profusion of lamps
and inscriptions. Two enormous coppei candlesticks, adorned with two
tapers, siill more enormous, mount guard on either side.
"The short, wide form oi the candlestick and the colossal size oi the candle
make one dubious at first sight as to the nature oi this object, which is the entire
visible expression of the Mussulman worship. Some days aftei this, one of us
made a study of this mosque, which admirably renders its mysterious and poetic
character.
" We had left our asses at the door, and also conformed to the law which
prohibits the shoes from accompanying their owners into the holy place. Vou
can imagine nothing odder than this battalion oi I I • iadl] awaiting us on the
steps, where ihe\ seemed to envj us our privileges. The regulation bakchicb
bestowed on the sheikh, who is the doorkeeper oi the mosque, we bestrode
our beasts, who oi their own accord such is their instinct for the beautiful
deposited us at the entrance oi the Mosque El-Barkouk. While we were in the
mosque the Sight of Our coursers had aroused the poor population, always hidden
away under the rubbish ; and like dies attracted bj a bit oi meat, this multitude
oi women and children endured the rudest blows oi our donkey boys, rather than
slacken their hold and renounce the paras of copperwhicb we would toss them
in charity under the pretext oi its being "bakchich." For one musi not fall into
the error of confounding bakchich with charity ! which latter would doubtless be
humiliating to an Arab; the former is a gift, a present among princes who
respect and desire to honor each oilier' Bakchich is a colossal institution 111 the
1)11.111 , 11 is an indirect contribution from the traveler, which may easily exceed
the cost oi the whole journey it he does not guard against too great liberality in
his offerings. In addition, gratitude on the part oi the child and woman consists
m a renewal of the demand with an irritating persistency proportionate to the
generosity which you bave displayed in your first donation. The Mosque of
El-Barkouk is more imposing than that of El-Achraf, although of a later period.
Its principal entrance, surmounted bj covered galleries, produces an extra-
ordinary effect : the Staircases in marble, and the Columns oi porphyry, are
is and pieturcsipich disposed, The taste of a skillful architect has cer-
tainly presided over this luxurious ornamentation ; tor tin* richness is not the
result of a ridiculous beaping up oi precious materials nor oi loud colors, as m
the more modem constructions of the Mussulman religion. Si. Sophia, with its
superabundance of gilding and gigantic proportions, certainlj dors not produce
1I1. impression of grandeur and mysterious poetry which the Mosques oi Cairo
inspire to the highest degree, from the superb Mosque oi Hassan (El-Assaneyn)
to the smallest of the constructions which adorn the tombs of the Mamelukes,
so full] do taste and elegance make up lor mathematical proportions "I a purely
massive and coarse construction."
Gi rfime indeed made a thorough Stud) of the different views and tunes ,,!
worship m these wonderful mosques, and in the Reading of the Koran, wh<
i-'" ///■/■ WD WORKS OF // l\ //<>\ G&R6MI
central figure <>l the white-bearded patriarch is especially fine ; Prayer in a
Mosque, with ten figures in various devotional attitudes; The Mihrab, with the
sheikh seated on the Boor reading, and another Prayer, with five figures, he
reproduces not only the strange coloring, the magnificenl sculptures in wood and
marble, ami the graceful groupings and postures, bul also the profound religious
sentiment which is ingrained in these simple Mussulmans, so faithful and unpre-
tentious in their worship. In Publu Prayer in the Mosgue of Atnrou, with its
flock oi doves fluttering down between the marble pillars, -which tonus pari of
the collection bequeathed by Miss Catherine Wolfe to the Metropolitan Museum
oi New York, the artist has given us. we think, the most perfeel ol all these
interioi s.
■■ Amioii, general under the Caliph ( (mar, was the author ot this monument,
n !n ii is reputed to be ihe lirst Mussulman mosque built at Cairo
"Nothing has arisen to contradict this origin, and the Style ot the edifice
confirms all the details connected with it. Gam-a-Amrou is the Arabic name.
Constructed in the year 640 ol oui era, at the time ot the conquest by the Arabs,
it can be considered as a point ol departure, or the cradle of Islamism in Egypt.
Situated to the cast ot old Cairo, with winch it is contemporaneous, it is sur-
rounded to-daj b\ endless rubbish, shapeless rums ol the city of which it
doubtless was the most beautiful ornament. The walls ot this architectural relic
form a pel led square, the interioi being only the regular peristyle of an immense
court. Two hundred and thirty columns oi marble form the foundation of this
open air edifice, for the covered portion is insignificant relatively to the rest ot
the building.
•• In the center ot this enormous court is the traditional pool of the mosques,
where each Mussulman performs his indispensable ablutions before beginning his
prayers. This little pavilion, still dotted with paintings on the lower part, is
shaded by a superb palm tree, which seems lobe the time-honored guardian o|
this hoK place. Hut the water <>i the pool argues little in favor of the piet} ot
the faithful oi to-day, unless ii is a result ot their uncleanliness ' We made a
conscientious sluily ol this remarkable locality, where the slightest details express
the pure simplicity and consequent beauty ol Arabic ail. A graceful minaret
shoots up almost immediately over the principal entrance, and signals from afar
Ihe presence of this important building, which, without it. would scarcely be
perceived on account ot its regular form and the waj it is closed in by ruins of
thi ancient city and fragments of every description, increased by the encroach-
ment ol ihe sand. In the covered part, which forms the sanctuary, where there
are six rows of columns, but tew points recall Ihe worship so long carried on in
this mosque. Its mihrab, at abside, turned toward Mecca, is in a state ot ruin.
as well as the menber, the sculptured pulpit so religiously cherished in other
mosques.
"Tradition, or an apocryphal legend, calls your attention to a long white
vein or seam in one of the columns near this pulpit. This miraculous scar is
///■/• l.\/i WORKS Ol // M //, <\ G&RdMl 127
attributed to the courbachi oi the Caliph Omar. The tomb ol the author, or
rather founder, of this public building and the city argues in favor oi his
modesty: his funeral monumenl is a simple rectangular stone, surmounted by a
common little rooi supported by four sickly little columns, and this excess oi
simplicity ha not lessened the veneration winch true Mussulmans profess for
Amrou and his mosque, for the mosl important personages honor ii often with
their official visits and carry awaj blessings of a very superior qualit]
" In a second \ isii winch we made en mass* to this interesting mosque, we
wished to complj with a pious legend which is one oi the accessories oi the
edifici as follows: On the righi oi the door, under the peristyle oi the court.
are two slender columns formed of a single piece oi marble, hound together by
their capitals and the ornaments al the base. A space ol onlj a lew centimeters
separates the two shafts, and a pious Arabic legend gives to this opening thi
agreeable properties, among others thai oi prolonging the life of all those who
can pass between the two columns without breaking their ribs! Several oi our
party, thanks to then youth and the elegant slenderness of their build, slipped
through like letters into a postal-box, easih carrying off a license ol longevity
1/ discrition. Mm one oi us had to make- such efforts thai the columns seemed to
crack at contact with his powerful physique. ' He'll j^ct through !' ' He won'tgei
through !' He did ^et through, hut at what cosl ' At another spoi we assured
ourselves eternal happiness by running, with our exes blindfolded, a space oi
ll meters, at the end of which we were to touch a black slab inlaid in the
wall. I be Vrabs were convinced ol our utter dishonesty, SO often did we suc-
ceed in hitting it. nearly all of us striking the center ol this celestial target.
The serious and almost fanatic conviction of the sheikh of the mosque con-
trasted singularly with the comic side of these superstitious legends, which
recalled to us the sack-races ami hhndnian 's-lui II ol our merry schoolboy days.
"After numerous salamaleks. and still more numerous bakchichs, we were
able to tear ourselves away from the congratulations and compliments oi the
sheikh, who doubtless saw m us future neophytes, or good customers, considering
athusiasm which we had displayed lor his little games ol chance and
of eternal salvation '
"We returned to Cairo at full gallop by the route which runs along the Nile
as far as Boulak. A thousand picturesque incidents would have detained us hid
we not been preoccupied with an important operation which awaited US at the
hotel, namely, the selection oi a dragoman for our expedition to Fayoum. A
\eritable council oi war. tins ceremony had gathered together in our court a
fantastic collection ol physiognomies and of strange types. At the mere sighl
ome ol these professional guides to whom we were aboui to confide our whole
existence, our hands instinctively buttoned up our coals and lingered in the
neighborhood of our watch-chains' Nothing could he more singular than this
legion of worthies, some of whom, armed lo the teeth, recalled to us thosi
of brigands which till now we had only seen in the stories of IVrraull and which
-pod the comfort of travel like horrible nightmares. Inoffensive for the most
part, these honesi thieves came to offer us their services with a zealous compi
128 LIFE AND WORKS OF JEAN LEON GEROME,
tition mosl comical to behold. Bach one endeavored to persuade us by tours
de force oi eloquence and bundles <>l certificates, forced from the victims who
had honored them with their confidence,
rally the] spoke Beveral languages very well; one of them spoke
eleven, this prolusion rousing a little- anxiety lesl he should attempl to speak
them all al once! We finally succeeded in making a double bargain with a
certain rlassahoui, for donkeys and drivers lor Fayoum, and with a ven
intelligent Syrian, named Joseph Moussali, for the dromedaries, camels, and
drivers for the Desert ol Sinai and Petra. In our expedition to Sinai, we
were served by the domestics who formed the stall oi this Moussali, remarka-
ble and varied types oi this Arab population, so gentle and so docile, whose
dispositions have only been altered by the unjust treatment and indescribable
lirui.il 1 1 \ oi their conquerors, Th< contracts read, signed, and sealed, and all
being decided, iroin the number of fowls to the size of the pots and kettles,
we weni to \isii our tents, artistically pitched under the mosl beautiful
oi Bzbekyeh. Having consecrated an entire day to the trial of our
asses ioi the journey, we set off ai five o'clock in the morning with all our
accessories, and reached the Nile a little above the island ol Roudah, our
dromedaries having arrived the evening before. It was here that we were to
cross the river to gain the road to Gyzeh and reach the Pyramids toward three
o'clock in the afternoon. At the end ol this island, the impetuous current of
the rivi i sei ms to slacken a little, its efforts being divided. It is doubtless for
this reason thai this poinl was chosen to effect its. important passage. Here is the
rendezvous oi the boats which ply between the banks in the interests of com-
merce and circulation. Cangues, dahabiehs, little crafts oi every shape and size.
form at this spot a motle] flotilla. Whether a favorable wind permits the grace-
ful sails to be unfurled amid this lorest of masts, or an absolute calm brings into
use the colossal oars and professional oarsmen, t his point oi the Nile and of Cairo
oiler-- the most vivid picture of maritime movement. Rarely does a collision
disturb the scene. Like real fish, the small and large vessels cross each other
carelessly with an equal rapidity, recalling the skill with which our Parisian
vehicles are guided through the densest crowds. What interested us particularly,
and .unused us greatly, was the forced embarkment andstowing away oi our asses
on the little barks, the patrons oi which had first offered to take us over. We
had it firsl a slight repetition of our debarkation from the boat at Alexandria, in
the struggle among these worthy people, who wished to oblige us iii »piie ot our-
selves, in snatching away our asses and literally tossing them into their respective
little wherries. It was the first time we had occasion to observe the importance
of our dragoman and the impressive gestures which saved him the fatigue of
expressing himself in his native language. With his sleeves turned up. and
armed with a formidable courbache. Joseph Moussali thrashed, in turn, (
thing in front of him, beasts and men. lill the most perfect order was established
lor the transfer of our animals and of ourselves into the bargain ! We were forci-
blj struck by the yellow coloring of Ihe river. It is caused bv tin sand which
the Nile constantly rolls alon«. and, the current being Stronger than usual, we
THE CARPET MERCHANT
1887
/.//■/■ AND WORKS OF I
[29
sailed over on a red vanilla-cream. We passed" the last banks of sand neai the
island and found ourselves in the mid. IK- oi the river. A unique spectacle pre-
sented itseli in us, and the poetic swaying of our hark intensified the impres-
sion oi dreamj enchantment. h was about aim o'clocl in the morning; the
sun Bashed on each oi the waxes which made of the Nile a veritable tossing
sea and the coloring <>i the water recalled the rivers oi gold in Chinese
romances.
"On the banks oi the island oi Roudah, and over the walls id its gardens,
trees oi an incredible beighl shol up like rockets over the Nile, Behind us
were grouped the thousand and one vessels, boats, and little crafl which wi bad
A
found on the lefl bank ; this foresl oi masts and white sails, the stuffs oi various
colors which are generally stretched across the decks as protection from the
ardent rays oi the sun all this was charmingly mingled and mirrored in the
W< reached the farther hank as crowded, as animated, as noisy, as the
one we had just left. The unpacking of the asses was as difficult and as extrava-
gantly tunny as their installation had been. During the fairly long crossing
they seemed to bave taken a liking to navigation, and it needed sundry blows
ol the eouili.i.li. I., rouse them from their sentimental reveries; they were
literally thrown into the air, and. like so many cats, generally landed on their
fei i Arrived at tin- village of Gyzeh, we found a battalion of camels carrying
our baggage; they had started the night before in order not to retard our
departure from Cairo. Heboid us, beasts and men. ,11 route in Indian file,
firstly, on account oi th narrowness of the roads along the Nile, and
secondly, to conform to the classic aspect a caravan is supposed to have. The
13° /.//•/■, AND WORKS <>/ /AM LiOA G&R6MI
dragoman a1 the head, then each oi us in i urn, .-mil our pack-camels bringing
up the procession; we must have looked like the figures in the landscape
paintings on clocks; bul we were far from thinking ol this, having for-
gotten "in personal silhouettes in our admiration ol all thai stretched out
before us.
"The Nile ono passed, we entered reall] into a new zone; already the
temperature was sensibly altered, the proximit} oi the deserl giving to the wind
unexpei ted marpm ss and violence; there are no longer gentle currents of air
which gracefully sway the palms, but sudden whirlwinds, which tear off branches
and leaves, while raisin- clouds ol -and and dust. The country, still very ver-
dant, takes "a a much more savage aspect, The village ol Gyzeh is surrounded
l.\ groves oi palm tree- which make ol il one oi the most picturesque sites in
the environs oi Cairo. These palms attain fabulous proportions ; their wrinkled
trunks are enormous, and the eleganl palm tufts surmount them like immense
capitals, furnishing a dense shade, impenetrable to the .sun , in several localities
reserved foi trav< I, their symmetry produces an impression ol a grand colonnade
holding ii]. a marvelous vaull ol verdure. Although ii> name is historical, there
is nothing important ahout the village, unless il he the famous incubato
which tlie fellahs have preserved the recipe from the time ot tin- Pharaohs.
These manufactories oi small chickens, which Herodotus so much admired, still
exist, and work wuli the same precision as they did in the kitchens ot Sesostris.
In some more rugged portions ot the valley we came across some saquiehs, a sorl
ot turning well, tin- motive power of which is ordinarily a buffalo, an ass, or camel.
These primitive wells are the auxiliaries ot the Nile and supplement the benefits
ol Us inundations. Two immense wheels, which form the gear, cause to descend
and ascend a veritable rosarj ol little earthen jugs, which empty the water into a
ditch destined to fertilize the surrounding soil or simply to supply the necessities
of a little village. The installation "I a saquieh generall) idler-, the ensemble ol a
most picturesque composition in both design and color; one always finds an
uneven ground, water, palm trees, animals and their drivers, groups ot women
and children, who come here lor water when the Nile is too distant; il is the
rural Hie id Egypl in its mosl practical and truesl aspect.
" Apropos ol saquidhs, it is important to notice that the Egyptians were the
real inventors ol these wells, improperly known among us as artesian wells.
Olympiodorus, who lived in the sixth century at Alexandria, writes that wells
were due, in the oases to a depth sometimes of [24 meters.
"'It is certain,' says D6gous6e, 'that the existence id subterranean springs
was known to the Egyptians; the methods they employed to make use ot
them are still practiced in Africa by the Arabs of the desert.'
"In the search tor. and difficult perforation of these wells, in consequence
of the shifting nature of the sand, one finds a nearly complete resemblance to
the means ol sounding employed in China and the whole ol the extreme Orient.
Is it not humiliating to think that these wells were not known and accepted
m Europe till i8a8 -imported from the Orient by the advice of the celebrated
savant Jobard, ot Brussels?
LIFE AND WORKS OF // M / / < > \ GEROAfE [31
"After having followed for some miles the left bank oi the Nile, we turned
suddenly to our right, leaving our beloved palm trees to cross lands which were
in a state of culture doubtless very satisfying to their proprietors, but much too
green to please our painter eves; this general tone, almosl disa in its
monotony, Only made us appreciate more keenly the sharply accentuated line
of demarcation between the desert and the cultivated land- Oui attention was
distracted from these geological considerations by the sigh) of the Pyramids,
which seemed to flee before us. so greatly did their gigantic proportions deceive
us in regard to the distance which remained to I" traversed in order to reach
them. The view ol the Pyramids obtained from Gyzeh is most imposing, Seen
from a distance of five or six kilometers, when a caravan between you and them
can serve as a scale of proportion, their extraordinary dimensions impress one
most forcibly. By the orders oi the dragoman, and almost in a traditional
manner for those oi us who had visited Egypl before, oui tents arose, as ii by
enchantment, under the shade oi an enormous sycamore, which insisted on
flourishing in the midst oi the -and . supplemented by three palm trees, this
magnificenl tree formed I vegetation oi the environs; it is under its
thai all travelers seek shelter and repose before beginning their archaeo-
logical researches. There were as yet no tenants, so we installed ourselves
without protest, and drew up a lease oi three days with this hospitabh
with freedom to move when we pleased. Camels, donkeys, tents, escort, don-
key-boys, camel-drivers, our luggage, ami ourselves all found ample room under
its benevolenl branches."
While the novices in this joyous hand hastened away at daybreak to pa]
a forma] call to the Sphinx, scramble to the top oi the Great Pyramid and
explore its interior, as well as some ol the numerous tombs which lie scattered
around. Ger6me remained alone to make the sketch which was afterward
reproduced in his exquisite painting called The First Kiss 0) the Sun.
"Aftei several days in this interesting locality, we moved on, by wa\ oi
Dai hour, to the real desert. Alter having followed, twisted around, and crossed
successively an interminable series oi canals and pools, we reached the end of
the cultivated lands and prepared foi OUI firsl assault on the desert itself it
ere day, lor our next halting-place was the village oi Tamyeh,
winch lies nearly in the center oi the province of Fayoum. The day was truly
a disagreeable one. in spite oi the precautions we had liken, tor we had not
counted on a hurricane of sand which surprised us in the middle ol the desert
at the always interesting moment of breakfast. The clock at the Bourse in
Paris probabl] marked noon, bill our stomachs loudly declared it to be at least
four o'clock ' lb. flat dishes were spread around and our eyes were already
devouring the papers in which our cold lunch was wrapped; we had just seized
our forks when, quicker than lightning, a real deluge of sand overwhelmed us;
ink against which we were leaning gave way, taken up by this tempest,
and poured over everythii and edibles. Wavesol sand dashed into oui
132 III! \ND WORKS Of II I \ L&Oh >, /If!//
eyes and blinded us. Bottles, dishes, the menu,a\\ lay buried under the sand,
and we began a series oi excavations to prevenl our property and ourselves from
disappearing entirely in this cataclysm. The Arabs, having lenl us a helping
hand in our distress, had lain down in the sand, thus avoiding the painful con-
tact with the wind, which lashed our faces like blows of a whip. The temper-
ature which preceded this evenl had suddenly changed. An icy cold had
the place ol the heal we had experienced since morning; like the currents oi
warm and cold water which meet in rivers and the ocean, this cold air seemed
to fall from a celestial glacier. Our unhappy asses suffered horribly; in spite
..I their instinct oi self-preservation, and the devoted efforts oi our Arabs, these
miserable beasts were seized with real convulsions as they struggled and rolled
over, trying to gel out ol the sand that continually re-covered them. They bled
from eyes and nose, and in the midst ol this general scuffle we thought oi the
army of Cambyses, who, surprised like us in the desert, returned without a single
. hossepotl
"On the a\ou,d oi our dragoman himself, this was a terrible day, and one
ol the severest ol our expedition. Mill we were obliged to move on This
was difficult enough; after having found the greatet part oi our accessories, we
set ourselves to work to exhume our asses ami to get them to go on farther.
We had swathed our laces in veils and kouffies, hut the sand penetrated every-
thing, and lis violenci had tiearlj taken off the skm. Ai the end of two hours
this khamsinn abated, happily tor us, but we found ourselves confronted by
a new trouble. In an exactly opposite direction from that we were following,
the mirage caused us to see endless lines id palm trees, our critical situation,
this deception, and the contrary direction we were taking, all contributed to
render us very anxious as to the denouement of our day. At last the Arabs,
whose eyes are used to I he desert and its snares, pointed "lit to us real palm
but it was only two kilometers farther on that we began to barely per-
ceive them. These two little green tufts on the horizon ol' this ocean of sand
had the effect of promised land finally sighted. Welch like crying out, 'Land!
land'' As soon as we reached these trees ol deliverance, we and our asses
threw ourselves down to take a little siesta, which was absolutely indispen-
sable in view ot (air fatigued state. The indefatigable camels carrying our
luggage, being above these little human weaknesses, continued directlv on to
Tamyeh, where we were to rejoin them, finding our tents read] to receive us.
A g 1 stretch ol the desert remained for us to cross, and it was with diffi-
culty that, rousing ourselves from our slumber, we took up our inarch. The
soil had. however, changed in its character, the road which we followed still
bearing the imprint (d the footsteps id" men and camels; we were approaching
countries more solidly established and less movable than the sands that hail just
laihl to swallow us up. By the more assured stepping of our animals we felt
we were on rocks, still covered with sand, but which were soon to make a strik-
ing appearani
"Am i having climbed some uneven ridges, we found ourselves suddenly
on the border of an immense ravine, a real precipice several hundred meters
1.11 1. AND WORKS Ot Jl l.\ I Ia>.\ 1,1 i 135
wide. This natural canal reaches beyond Tamyeh to the lake Birket-Kerouti
li serves, like two others, to hold the waters oi the Nile, which complete^ fill
ii a 1 the time oi the overflows. Jusl now ii was dry, and presented a mosl savage
and frightful appearance. Bj .1 caprice of nature, its heaps oi rocks seemed to
be the rums oi a greal citj precipitated into the abyss, Weeds and shrub oi
every description tilled up the gaps and made a natural resorl for the most
ferocious beasts we could imagine We were not altogether wrong, and this
Egyptian savanna merits only too well its reputation, for it is then thai
numerous wild boars have established a republic most disastrous to the inhab-
itants of the neighborhood. The havoc they make in the crops is a veritable
calamity lor the country, which can barely raise .1 sufficient supply, literally
surrounded as 11 is b\ the desert. Souvenirs of the chase made this locality
especially interesting to our colonel [Gerome], who was not there for the firsl
timi and who executed, the next day, the finest coup de fusil thai had ever been
si . 11 l>\ the inhabitants oi Tamyeh. The \ illage, which is quite large, stn
out before us on the other side oi this immense ravine, the passage of which was
not of the easiest . but two hours after, we were installed under our tents, pitched
to the northeast, facing the principal gate. This considerable oasis presents on
the whole a charming landscape, trained by a brilliant golden line which incloses
it on every side. It is an island ot verdure in the midst oi an endless stretch ol
sand. From our encampment, perched on the heights, the slightest details ol
1 Ih \ illage were visible.
' The principal gate was in tront ol us. a sort ol semicircular arcade, com-
posed of alternate dried .and burned bricks. Here was the rendezvous ol all the
arrivals the great market where all the important personages ol the locality
gathered together. On the right a pretty minarel stretched gayly upward like a
village Steeple, Overtopping everything, and several clumps of palm trees broke
the monotony of the roofs and terraces of the buildings. Animals ol all kinds,
as well as the people, wander over the tops ol the houses, and in Ms ensemble
this lite on the roots presents a most unique effect. Women laying out linen.
Arabs mending the roofs, and children running and leaping from house to house
like so many cats. But vyhat struck us most forcibly as predominating m this
comical animation, was tie' incredible number ol dogs , we had never seen so
many, nor such varieties ; not a terrace that was not adorned with at least three
or four of these animals; crouching like sphinxes, thev watched on, as far as
they could see. This picturesque glance at a city ol dogs was to be followed
by a much less cheerful impression during the night. From the setting to the
rising ol the sun, these thousands of guardians oi the peace called and replied to
each other in the most plaintive, piercing, and discoid, ml of tones. One could
believe that Jezebel allowed herself to be eaten by them to enjoy the lelieitv ol
no longer hearing them! Our state oi fatigue after this cruel day in the desert
rendered this tree concert mih the more insupportable, and it lasted from six
o'clock in the evening nil live o'clock in the morning -without the slightest
entr'acte. This horrible night was a long-continued nightmare; ems and men-
aces were in vain. Our dragoman, in an excess ol zeal, killed two of these
i.V> III I l.\l> WORKS <>l Jll.\ ll:i<\ (,/,/,', 'ill
gentlemen with his revolver which made matters still worse, lor all the dogs
m the village ran i" eal up their comrades, and there was a tempest () i bow]
ings thai would have terrified Dante I With the rays of the sun the infernal
mi, iii ,11.1 ceased, and calm was at last re-established. It was time, for we were
ball dead from want of sleep, nol having been able to close our eyes during
the whole night.
Ih, daj after, with the help ol several natives, a lirst attempt at a hunt
was organized ; the sheikh of Tamy&b was greatl] interested in this expedition,
and had promised bis active assistance, and we expected on his part a deploy-
ment ot forces in proportion to the
,«aa^fl8|g&5. enthusiasm he had exhibited the
re. The next morn-
ing every one was ready,
awaiting the promised
reinforcements ; we
/^p ■ were under arms in
the village square,
when w< percen ed a
In- fellow, simply clad in a brown tunic, much loo short tor him ; he ran toward
us. frisking and gesticulating like a madman. This monkey was the son of the
sheikh himself, and aside from this title to our consideration, no detail of his
exterior compensated for the too greal simplicity of his accoutcrment. Cries.
and pirouettes in space were all that we could at firsl obtain from this
acrobatic Nimrod. On our remarking that In was only armed with his ten
fingers to fight the enemy of the desert, he rushed immediately to the tenl where
our tood was prepared, and chose an enormous kitchen knife, which he held
between bis teeth in order to gesticulate more freely' This strange companion-
in-arms was escorted h\ nine 01 ten oilni A rabs. armed with sticks, who were
to arouse, track, surround, and beat up the game. They began along the deep
ravine which divides the entire province. After several fruitless battu
enormous wild boar was pointed out to Cicrome. Three shots, skillfull] placed
were tired into this huge animal, who. with a shoulder and a loot broken, twice
ivored to continue his furious rush, and then rolled over into the bed of
the torrent, from which he was fished out by the Arabs. A camel had to
carry back tins boar, fabulously large for this country, where they are generally
small; this one weighed over three hundred pounds.
"'Idle son of the sheikh could no longer contain himself; preceding the
Cortege, he and his knife executed indescribable fantasias in the air. ■.!/<>///.'
. I foil/'. 1 Kalas! Cawaga Girdme kchir. 1 ' Such were the shouts with which the
entire village deafened our ears. David bringing back the head of Goliath had
certainly no greater a success! Idle Copt population, like good Christians,
came to assist us in consuming this bulky came, and a general distribution
was made m the village lo our cO-religionistS. Everybody was at the least,
lor the dogs had their pail of this genera] quarry, ami. in spite ot the large
crowd gathered together, eagles ami other voracious buds swooped down in
THE TERRACE OF THE SERAGLIO
II II IM> WORKS OF J I: l.\ L&ON G&RdME. 137
their midst and disputed the prey with them. Haunch of wild-boar, sauce
mad&re; filet oi boar, sauce poivrade; cutlets oi boar without sauce, figured
for several days on our bills of laic To scud some to France to comfort oui
families would have been a greal joy to us. but postal difficulties hindered us,
and this generous movement of our hearts was interred in the depths Oi our
stomachs! Toward evening we all assembled again and proceeded to invest
one oi tin large ponds to the southwest of the village. Hunting is no longer
bunting in this marvelous country, in this veritable promised land, where the
keepers must have been on a strike for centuries, Neither the grains oi sand
on the seashore, nor the stars in heaven, can give an idea oi the Hocks of wild
ducks which blackened the water. As night fell, these compact masses seemed
lo be immense Boating raits, which divided into squads under our incessant
firing. Fortunately foi them the darkness came quickly ami put an end to
this St. Bartholomew's massacre. Besides, the tough llesh oi this duck is
cable to eat. and in these innumerable llocks only a tew acceptably
increased the resources of our kitchen. The next da\ our intrepid hunters
left with regret this enchanted country, and 1 1 1 i — . too short sojourn was
recalled in the evenings under our tent, with recitals of all we had don
all we could have done' As we hit camp, the leathered population c
us without ill-will and swelled the chorus oi the villagers, who lavished on
us the most flattering ovations in honor of the three-hundred-pound boar of
whose undesirable presence the bravery and skill ot (ierotne had relieved them.
From the back of his ass, one of us killed a do/.en pigeons with one charge, and
the menus of the province of Fayoum left the most cherished memori
the heart oi our cook. These Orgies of game were lacking in the desert, and
we often longingly recalled Tamyeh at a time when English preserved meats
and sardines formed the chief part of our supplies,
•' From Tamyeh. the extreme northeast of the province of Fayoum. we
were to mov toward the center, stopping at the village oi Senouhres, which,
aftei Medinet, is one of the most important localities. We were still in the
bill the sand was less powdery and less dangerous than that W< bad
crossed from Dachour. 1 lere the soil was firmer, and as we could all move
mori easily, we fully expected to sleep that night at Senouhres (which citj
furnished the theme foi Gerflme's celebrated picture, the Saber-dance before the
Pashd). As we gradually left the sand, the village appeared in the distance like
a huge fortress perched on a plateau, graciously crowned by minarets and
cupolas. These domes, which appeared first, belonged to an ancient cemetery,
quite large, bu1 abandoned and in ruins to-day, but which, by its importance,
testified as to the rob' played by Senouhres at another epoch. A numbei oi
ponds, brooks, and little canals render the approach to the village tedious and
ii igreeable. Passing suddenlj from fine sand to a marshy soil, we consumed
I hours in going around and crossing these innumerable little obsi
This city of Senouhi unit oi its commercial, and. above all, agricultural
importance, possesses a regular administrative machinery. Authority there is
installed on an official footing equal to our most intricate sub-prefectures ;
i.V- LIFE \ND WORKS Of II l\ LEON G&RdME.
therefore, by the advice oi our dragoman, we prepared for a series oi formalities
and salamaleks! According to friendly indications, after having made the
circuit of the village, our tents were pitched to the south on a prairie on the
bank of a charming stream, and in the shade of ravishing palms. We had
patriotically unfurled our national flag before the i yes ol the dazzled population,
and were almost disposed to pul on our pearl-graj gloves to go to pay our
respects to the sheikh and the other magistrates of the city. Already our
animals, decked in their gayesl trappings, had crossed the ford which led to the
town hall; already we almost tasted the coffee they were fatally sure to
us, when our dragoman, who marched at the head ol the procession, entered
into a long conference with a young Aral), magnificently dressed, who. running
breathlessly to meet us, indulged in a tnosl expressive pantomime in order
to explain his meaning, We stopped; the dragoman apprised us that, warned
oi our visit, the sheikh and all the municipal council, tor reasons oi gravest
importance, found it absolutely impossible to receive us; that they themselves
would lake the trouble to eome and bid us welcome the next morning; and
meanwhile they presented then mosl respectful homage and prayers for our
prosperity, etc., etc. Not at all annoyed by this disappointment, we were pre-
paring to regain our tents; but some' ol us, not wishing to lose time, applied to
the dragoman, who, according to directions easily obtained, conducted us to the
quarter where the dancers lived the almees, whom we had seen in a mirage,
and ol whom we dreamed every evening and sometimes in the afternoon '
" Nun numerous detours among small, dirty houses, we arrived at a
little door, through which Arabs of all a^es. se\es. and si/.es were going m and
out. It was not the mysterious sanctum we had imagined, guarded l>\ fantas
tie beings adorned with sabers and costumes ol brilliant colors; entrance was
free to all. and we went in without the slightest formalitj oi ,m announcement.
In the midst oi a little, square court, seated on nigs and mats, a dozen women
were munching oranges and drinking araki with some fairly well-dressed person-
ages, who were nol at all disturbed by our entrance. These gentlemen, whom we
saluted </ I'arabe, returned our greetings very politely, made room tor us beside
them, and invited us to sil down en famille. We had certainly come to see
these ladies, but we had nol ioreseen the too-easy reception accorded to US. Our
verj limited acquaintance with the Arabic language placed a forced restraint
on the expression oi our sentiments. The words thai we knew the best, just
at that time, were those referring to the saddling oi our asses and the loading
oi our camels. And we therefore ran the risk oi committing an unpardonable
rudeness in reciting our little repertoire <>t the stable ' ' k'oi.ss kitir.' ' and 'Kitir
koiss .' ' formed the retrain which accompanied the dainties we lavished upon
them. •)'(/.' habibi ! " was their lavontc response to our compliments, and ibis
petit Trianon on all-fours did not lack a certain royal cachet.' Our rivals seemed
to Ik- charmed by our efforts to be amiable. Several of these women, rather
better-looking than the others, wore ornaments, collars, and bracelets oi great
price; attached by threads to their hair plaited m little braids, numerous
,,! mo|,| ol all dimensions certified to the sumptuous bakchichs which had
LIFE AND WORKS OF II .l.\ LEON GfiKfl.MI , vi
been lavished mi them. One oi these danseuses struck us, not by the regular
beauty oi her features, l>ui by the savage character < > t her face and her fiery
glance. As an artist, she seemed to be the object of the particular attentions
>it our quondam friends. Our dragoman asked her name she was called
Hasne ; and 'Hasne kolss kitir ' was a ready-made new phrase whicb had an enor-
mous success. Ii became the mot oi the evening; and 1 turned ihis success
into an absolute triumph by a coup-de-theatre whicb our native rivals could nol
foreseen I drew from my pocket one oi those thirty-sou scarfs which
ordinarily form pari of the Sunday attire oi our peasants. I began by showing it
tn Hasne; like a real monkey, she seized it, put it ; mil her neck, and then on
her head, and was aboul to run away lor lear that I should lake her trea in
from her. I made her understand that I gave it toiler as hakehieh ; her
joy knew no limit; she approached me wnli convulsions oi satisfaction which
resembled epilepsy! In my triumph, what I feared mosl was to he bitten I
Torrents oi words, sharp and discordant, assailed my ears, and the dragoman
vainlj essayed to translate lor me the odd Oriental expressions ol avagi grati-
tude. Our Aral) neighbors', without being saddened by our success, withdrew,
leaving us the held of battle; we profited by this to arrangi foi a formal enter-
tainment ai our headquarters. Quite astounded by our conquest, and pursued by
the joyful cries oi these princesses] we regained the camp and organized an
-■Hi. id reception for the next day. We were to have danci oi the alm£es,
illuminations, games, and a hall, with or without the permission of the mayor I
However, we intended to invite him and his stall to this charming f6t<
" We awaited their visit in the morning, the formal m\ llalion was read\ ,
they had only to make their appearance. Hut imagine the general astonishment
when they did finally arri\ e ; they were the same personages whose tete-a-h /<■ we
had disturbed the evening previous! We could not help recalling the majestic
phrases used by their ambassadoi to express their regret at not being able to come
and meet us' The municipal council had certainlj not had a dull stance, and
chance had allowed us to behold these austere officials in full exercise ol their
functions! However, the whole affair was to them so simple that they immedi-
ately recognized us all and expressed great pleasure at seeing us again, almost
having an air of complimenting us on the manner in which we had supplanted
them' Coffee and araki successively circulated in cups and glasses, the most
extravagant Oriental compliments were exchanged, always by means of the
dragoman, and all went lor the best under the most beautiful tent id the most
hospitable oi encampments. This serious and official reception offered so sin-
gular a contrast to the merrymaking of the daj before, thai it needed all out
iiitrol not to laugh in the in oi these grave municipal councilors, whom
we had surprised very much at home in the Caf<§ Anglais. Hut all was gravity
this morning. Our guests remained to breakfast with us to the detriment ol our
tablecloth ; il was nol a slight operation with them, lor they managed with their
fingers the 1 1 for which we usually need a knife and fork. Our Dijon mustard
had a tremendous success, as we had the pleasure o! observing later on. We
did not say 'adieu.' but only 'au revoir,' till the fete of the evening. Our
i I" ///•/■ \ND WORKS 01 II IX I lih\ G&RdMl
dragoman had buckled on bis sabei and wrapped a new kouffie around his
tarbouch a prooi with him of some extraordinary and solemn occurrence. It
was seven o'clock in the evening; we had dined well in order not to fain! in the
middle of the ceremony. Paper lamps had been artistically hung in our largesl
tenl : as in the circus oi Caracalla, all had been anticipated, ordered, and clas-
sified ; our beds and trunks formed loges oi the firsl and second galleries; in the
cornei on the left the imperial %e, the place oi honor among Mussulmans; on
thi right, facing the municipal council, a carpel folded, 1 111 colonel [Gerome]
and ourselves, formed the orchestra chairs; and, scattered around in the afore-
mentioned galleries, tin.- suite oi the council, the relatives and friends oi thi
dancers. Finally, our servants and camel drivers, crammed in like so many
sardines, formed one oi the mosl picturesque sides oi this strange picture. The
lamps were burning with impatience when the dancei Hasne (she oi the thirty-
sou cravat) made a mosl overwhelming entree, dressed in a long blue rob
spangled with gold, and caught at the bell with fringes oi silk: some yellow
stuff, artistically wound around her head, formed a mosl striking coiffure,
together with the innumerable braids which fell upon her shoulders, several of
which were brought around ovei her forehead bj tiny gold rings. The metallic
sound oi the napoleons that jingled in her hair, and the piercing cries which
formed a prelude to her first steps, the barbaric instruments oi the musicians,
who had already begun their accompaniment, all those strange noises lent some-
thing of the diabolical to this seem-, so utterly novel to some oi us.
" The orchestra was composed oi three instruments as singular in tone as the
dance they were about to accompany ; there was the darabouka, a drum in terra-
cotta : the hetnengdh,a kind oi violoncello with two strings, and the zoumara,a
sort oi double shepherd's pipe. Our best rugs had been carefull} spread on the
spot where the dance was to take place. The artiste did not wait to be urged;
at the firsl sounds of the darabouka, Eiasne planted herseli boldly in the middle
of the tent. Doubtless animated by the size oi her audience and encouraged by
the pnncch bakchichs we had promised her, and perhaps roused by the presence
oi her municipal council, she served up to us the mosl exquisite refinements oi
her choregraphic art. Her brilliant eyes darted lightnings, and at a given signal
i in dance began. At tirst, slow and cadenced in her movements, the danseuse
scarcely moved from the spot to which she seemed hound by her feet : then, the
rhythm of the music accelerating a little, imperceptible and hast} steps suc-
ceeded the incredible inflections oi her body and the almost convulsive move-
ments that form the basis oi the dance of the .dunes As the musicians
ised the time of the step, her gestures, contortions, and the least movement
ol the arms and head assumed a more feverish and savage character. Almost in
a state of rhythmic epilepsy, she sank on her knees, executing new figures,
strange and picturesque than the preceding ones, combining the suppleness oi a
serpent with the grace oi a gazelle. Such was the spectacle which charmed us
i"i positively an entire hour; applause, bonbons, oranges, araki, and bakchich
were not stinted' It was a genuine success, and she musl have surpassed her-
self to judge bv the delirium oi admiration which overpowered the audience in
LIFE AND WORKS OF JEAN LEON GEROiil 141
genera] and two of our camel drivers in particular. Both oi them blind in the
same eye, this misfortune had doubtless drawn them together, and it was nol
pure chance that placed them in the same loge oi this traveling theater. The
araki and the music had already prepared them foi th< most ooisj manifestations
of beatitude. But when 1 1 asm- fell on the rug like a wounded lioness, then
enthusiasm knew no hounds ; one oi them look the other's head in his hands and
kepi time with it, with genuine bowlings oi satisfaction; be seemed to wish to
twist the head oil in order lo throw il a
bouquel to the alm£e the other cheerfully
allowing himseli to he thumped and twisted. 4fJ^*i
At the end oi the seance, the I wo t iirhans. u h 1 cb
at the beginning were cocked in the most
pronounced manner over the ens oi the pro- ^\
prietors, finished by tumbling off entirely,
exposing to view their mysterious Mahout, I ,V\
nothing could be more comical than the spec-
tacle oi these one-eyed beauties, with hare heads.
almost strangling each other to mutually express
their happiness! Hut the most beautiful things
have an end. The lamps were beginning to
smoke; one oi them look Inc. and this was
the signal for a general retreat, alter innumer-
able salamaleks. 'There had not been too much
damage, Our domestics were enchanted, and we
bad gained the esteem of the council, so the
satisfaction was general. The danseuse, con-
ducted to her home on our most beautiful bour-
riguot, was also pleased with us and did not
delay giving us proofs of her lively gratitude!
I he next morning at live o'clock we v.
roused by the squeaking of feminine voices from the sleep which we so
sadly needed after oui soiree, as laborious as it was exciting. It was llasne.
with all her friends, who had come to see us. ■ )\i kouloum habibi kitir.' We
dl her best friends,' and at sunrise she hastened to greet us! They
1 her to bave patience while serving her with coffee, and we spent a
gay morning all together. The conversation did not vary from the perpetual
' koiss kittr,' bu1 gestures and bonbons made up the deficiency. To amuse her.
I had the impudence to show her a frightful puppet which I had broughl from
Paris, and wlmh had alread) delighted us in several circumstances. This stupid
marionette, suspended bj a caoutchouc, made a most ridiculous appearance. I
generally hung it on the neck of my ass. for I had vowed thai il should see all
the countries we were to visit ; a hit ol nonsense lh.it was only excused hy the
discovery of a similar doll in the baggage o! one of our party, at Sinai ' We
called him Jules, and Jules certainly did not realize his happiness. lie had
ascended the pyramids with me and was now i" < an una- in an exciting d
i I-' /.//■/■. AND WORKS Ot // l\ LjtOA G&RdMl
Hasne played with it like a real monkey, balancing ii on her head and sticking
ii <ni her ears, with cries of joy thai were enough to frighten our animals. I
wenl i" make a sketch in the afternoon, and when nighl came Hasne and |ules
had disappeared ' This elopement was very annoying I Whether he passed the
nighl on the hearl or the dtagdre of the lady, he has never confided to me. Only
the hall of the nexl daj was lost in searching lor this article de vertu.and the
authority oi the entire municipal council was necessary to secure a judicial
separation and surrender of the stolen treasure, ^fter indulging in this series of
dramatic emotions, we wished to profit seriously by our stay in this interesting
villagi .and we became adroit in escaping from the too frequent visits of Hasne,
who had taken an excessive- liking to our society, U\ means oi continual
bakchichs sin- was mad. to understand that we had to work and that we would
call on her in her den. which we did with the intention oi photographing Iter, hut
the smell ol the collodion turned her stomach and produced a sudden hi of sea-
sickness, which spoiled our negative!
•• In its topographical configuration, the village of Senouhres offers, on a
in. >i. important scale the same aspect as the village ot Dachour. Located on
.. plateau considerably elevated al the level of the surrounding country,
Senouhres presents on every side the silhouette of a gigantic fortress. Like
Dachour. the inundations of the Nile are the sole cause oi this particular situa-
tion, Al the lime ol the rising of the river this plain, where we were encamped,
■-hi. I.d by these magnificent palms, forms, it appears, an immense lake as far as
Hi. end of the wood where our tents were pitched. Thi successive elevation and
ision ol these lakes produce in the lay of the land a slow 1ml steady lowering.
Immense plateaus ot earth in successive stories viadtialh form the buttresses
of the village, and the rOOtS Of the palm trees serve to consolidate these natural
ramparts, which the water ..its away and displaces a little every v ear. Whether
this is the only guarantee of solidity, or whether this veritable mountain has for
its base a foundation of indestructible rock, the village offers none the less, m
its whole extent, the appearance of a fortified city entirely built of earth, from
the highest minaret of its little mosques to the foot of its walls. Chance had
placed us opposite the most traveled passage which leads from the plain to the
village by way of the ford, coming out directly on the market-place, i It was
here that Gerdme sketched his picturesque Fellah Women Carrying Water.)
The women ol Senouhres seemed to have chosen this spot to come and gel water,
either because the brook appeared to them cleaner just at this point, or through
curiosity to see our encampment. From the rising to the setting of the sun.
hundreds of women and young ^irls descended to the water, following each
other in a procession with the majesty ol vestals going to the sacrifice. Without
being frightened off by our observation, they devoted themselves merrily to the
diverse operations which ordinarily precede, accompany, and follow the filling ol
a jug of water. On arrival, a neighbor helps to lift down the jug from the little
cushion which serves to steady it on the head ; the water is afterward carefully
inspected ; the woman then raises her dress a lit lie above I lie knee, knotting it at
her belt with one of the ends of the veil which covers her head : she then per-
LIFE AND WORKS OF JEAX LEON GERditE 143
forms the tirsi cleaning oi the jug, which does not lack in picturesque detail,
owing to the adroil and supple movements displayed in this firsi operation.
Holding the jug in one hand, she rubs ii vigorously with the other, filling and
emptying il several times to assure hersell ol its cleanliness; then, at the risk of
losing her footing, she advances boldly, sometimes to her waist, to dip up the
clearest water from the deepesl pari oi the brook. Ii is in this last operation
that, with the most graceful and unpremeditated movements, these women
struggle against the violenc< of the current, the weigbl of the jug making the
exil from this absolute bath more difficult. It is then the aid oi a friend is
generally accepted, either to cross over a difficult spol or to place in position this
tii .11 j amphora. The owner bends, gathering together, as besl she may, her wel
and disordered drapery, while her neighbor, with a single sweep, hits the burden
and balances it artistically on the head oi hei friend, where several bits oi i loth,
twisted together, form a little cushion. Waiting then one for the other to go
back to the village, the} recommence the picturesque procession in which they
had just come with their empty jugs. Their pace, less swift, was slackened on
accounl of the slope and difficulties oi the path, and a thousand incidents
occurred to enliven this march of statues, more or less vi iled . a dog that light-
ened them, a child that tumbled, were pretexts lor the mosl complicated stop-
pages and graceful groupings. It would have been pushing indiscretion to
to ask for ten minutes' motionlessness on the part oi this charming crowd, but
we were able l>\ rapid sketching to note their most frequent attitudes."
In (ierome's picture these "graceful groupings" are reproduced in his most
masterly manner.
". . . . We were to leave Sciiouhrcs the next day. and we paid a farewell
visit to the sheikh and the notabilities ol the country. The danseuses, and
M 1 in particular, came to express their griel at our departure ; we had bought
ol llii 111 a goodly quantity of dresses and veils, and our short stay must have been
quite profitable for them. The facl ol preferring ihin^s that had been worn to
new ones, utterly bewildered them as to the use we could make ol them. We
revived lor them the tale ol Aladdin and his wonderful lamp, leaving them new
scarfs I01 old ones Alter repeated adieux. and still more numerous bakchichs,
we started foi M6dinet, the most important city in the province of Fayoum.
"We wire obliged to piss twice- b\ Medinel in order to reach and return
from Fidemine. We could have taken anothei load, but a sad occurrence com
pelled this detour ; one of our party was suffering painfully from exposure lo the
sun. His stale of health made it eery inadvisable for him to continue the
expedition, ami we were obliged to have him transported lo Cairo, where com-
petent attention could be gi\ en to him to help him out of this disagreeable state.
The journey from Senoulires was long and laborious, although we Wi
cultivated regions sheltered from the khamsinn in its infinite varieties, ["he
remarkable numbered canals which intersect this portion of the province make
the road a perfect labyrinth ; in default oi a map, a native guide is indispensable,
II LIFE XND WORKS OF // I \ ii,<\ GEXdME.
in order not to go astray nor to go over the same ground twenty times, imalh
arriving at the starting point. It is in this locality, near the grand canal, called
the Canal de foseph, thai vegetation attains must extraordinary proportions and
surpasses the most exaggerated conceptions. En many places we passed under
absolute vaults of verdure formed by enormous branches ol tuts and shrubs,
which we were accustomed to see in much more ordinary dimensions. The
lemon and orange trees had the appearance and vigor of our finest oaks; forests
ot cacti and aloes bordered the roads as far as the eye could reach and seemed
to form an impenetrable rampart. Alter having followed these marvelous paths,
we came out on one of the largesl branches oi the Canal de Joseph. This canal,
oi which we will speak in our second passage by NU'din. I of the most
import. ml works in all Egypt: verj curious legends are connected with its
construction and biblical origin. The animation around the city oi Medinel
was entirely different hum thai ot the cities and villages we had just passer).
Soldiers in uniform, cavaliers richl} equipped, indicated the rank and impor-
tance, commercial and official, which spoiled the picturesque side and local coloi
oi the place. Indeed, it was quite difficult to obtain permission to encamp in the
environs, from the inli.ilni.mis, who already have lost that rural simplicity of
costume and gentleness of manner that characterize the fellah.
"Our dear invalid, accompanied by an intelligent domestic, was intrusted
l,, good hands, and, while lie went hack to Cairo, we started lor the villa oi
Fidemine, generally neglected by travelers, and winch has therefore only the
better preserved its cachet de sauvagerie, so curious ami rare to-day. We gradu-
ally ascended the Canal de Joseph. Reaching veritable savannas of plantation-,
entirely new to us, we followed a series of paths through w Is where Robinson
Crusoe could easily have imagined himself on his island. Enormous tropical
\ ines stretched Irom one side of the road to the other, binding together the palm
which sometimes barred the road with their distorted and knottj trunks.
Our baggage-camels had great trouble in .^ciime; through the thicket, and our
steeplechase threatened to last till nightfall. We were unconsciously ascending
continually while in the woods, hut the extraordinary vegetation prevented us
from noticing that we were very much above the level ot the surrounding
country. Suddenly we emerged on the brink of an immense precipice, at the
bottom ot which ran a hrook. which we perceived between the trunks ot the
palms and aloes which lined the sides of the ravine. We were therefore obliged
to make a horribly steep descent on foot, holding our camels by the bridle and
helping them a-- best we could, this long and difficult descent making tis appre-
ciate the heighl to winch we insensibly had climbed ; tor. thinking that we
must he going down at least to the internal regions, we simply reached the
natural level id' a charming brook at the picturesque entrance oi the village ot
Fidemine. Our tents were pitched beside this limpid water in a virgin forest.
Vside Irom the few village huts which we had seen at the bottom of the ra\ me
nothing till then had indicated the presence of human beings in this part ot
the world. \i our approach, animals of everj description tied away with sa
cries, as if they were the sole inhabitants. Not a single person having appeared,
LIFE AND WORKS Of JEAN LEOA 147
we organized a watch for the night, to protecl al least our poultry from the
beasts who deafened us with their howlings. Were they wolves or only jackals?
The sonority of the ravine increased the effect ol these noises, and, our imagina
lion aiding us. we were delighted al the idea of an encounter with really savage
beasts, Our revolvers under our bolsters, some of us slept with one eye open,
but after all we got oil with a nuit blanche. The next morning, all these ferocious
animals having assuredly taken Bight al the sighl of our warlike preparations,
we took a delicious hath m the very torrent where, during the night, one imag-
ined all the lions in the desert were quenching their thirst, in chorus, to excite
their hunger. We were still in our bath when the \ isit was announced ol the
Sheikh of Fidemine himself, with his suite and the older members ol his family.
These were no longer the merry old fellows oi Senouhn ;, but true ^rab fellahs,
as simple and dignified in their slightest gestures as the others had app I
frivolous. The reception was touching and cordial. Through a sentiment of
hospitality truly biblical, the young sheikh had brought his ^ilts of welcome.
certainly ignorant as to our ability to return his generosity. The charming i •
of this young Arab, the amiable dignity of the old men who accompanied him,
this ensemble ol' simple and primitive manners, was admirably framed in bj
this virgin forest, where nature had been untouched. His gift consisted
immense dish ol rice, with pieces ol thicken, sprinkled with saffron, swimming
around in it : an enormous pilau, which is the ordinary official piece de resistance
ol every Oriental repast ; we united them in our turn to sit down under our
tents and to partake ot our menu the following day. While we were at table,
an odd circumstance occurred to make this little fete memorable lor us; for,
restricting ourselves to our admiration of the country, our conversation did
not otter any great variety; the number ol his sheep and camels, his age, his
formed the substam e ol the questions addressed by us to the young
sheikh, and to which he replied with a charmingly natural precision and
simplicil 5 .
"' How long is it,' asked GerOme, since you had a visit from strange trav-
elers?' for to judge l>\ the country, Europeans had not often passed that way;
and one thing is certain, that when gas is pul in al Fid6mine,i1 will first be found
here else '
\i this question the sheikh meditated silently, as it he wished to give the
exact responsi Mohammed himsell could desire, 'Five years ago,' replied he;
'my father was then Sheikh of Fidemine. 1 was quite young, but I remembei
1 n perfectly.' Giving the precise details then of the time ol year and
appearance oi the travelers, we found thai he was unconsciously describing
in 0,111c himsell on his second trip to Egypt. Then, .after a pause of several
minutes, 'My father.' added he, ' related to me that still five years before that.
strangers came to hunt near our village and one of these Europeans placed him-
self in front of our house, ed before a little box, and seemed to be absorbed
in some work quite strange to us.' This strange labor was oil-painting, and the
traveler absorbed before his little box, which he held on his knees under his
great parasol, was GerOme again, on his first trip I A periodic comet which one
148 ///•/ IX/> II OXKS Of /I 1 \
oughl to see al Fidemine the 9th oi February, 1873, since it passes there every
five 3 1
"We had only to follow the caprices of this enchanting torrenl to make
acquaintance with the country. Ascending the lefl bank, we reached the vil-
lage Descending on our right, we penetrated an endless labyrinth of rocks,
plants, aloes, and palms, where only serpents could circulate at case. Game
was 'it* iii . 1 1 1 > abundant in this savage spol and we noticed footprints of ani-
mals quite unknown to us. Our hunters could not resist the temptation, and.
booted to the shoulders, they plunged into this almost impenetrable forest.
Strange cries and howlings lured them on for a long time, hut the difficulty of
moving around among the cacti and wild creepers that covered the precipices,
rendered their efforts fruitless and gradually lessened their ardor. Birds of
ever} possible plumage and an enormous Pharaohs rat were the only results
o1 this first battue in a virgin forest. To judge by this rat. the cats oi Sesostris
must have attained incredible proportions. This animal, however, has really
but little analogy with the field-mouse, and nothing justilics the name ot rat
unless it be the long head and pointed snout. These amphibious animals,
uhuh swarm in hot. damp countries, are very destructive to vegetation on
account ot the way in which they gnaw the roots of the trees which border the
brooks, canals, and streams ot every description ; the Arabs hunt them inces-
santly, but, iii spite ot their efforts, this animal is ,1 real plague in several
countries. The next day being market-day, we had an opportunity ot seeing
and sketching the most picturesque and animated groups where the most strik-
ing types of the population naturally gather together. The family of the
fellah was represented in all its completeness and primitive character; the men
tall and Strong, with tine expressive features: the women small, and very
vivacious in their movements; the children generally of a sickly aspect, and. to
the age of ten years, clad only in the garments furnished by nature at their
birth. In Egypl there exists a singular contrast between the admirable pro
portions 11I the men and the almost pitiful and aged appearance ot the women.
It is a sad and tatal result of the enervating climate and customs, by which
these absurdly precocious natures are exhausted long before the age of hill
development among us. Numerous bonks have treated at length these physio-
logical and almost zoological questions, since here the woman is relegated to
the state of a beast of burden, as soon as she has ceased to adorn the etagere
oi a harem. Completely shaved for indispensable reasons ot cleanliness, the
nun preserve, on the tops of their heads, a tuft of hair which bears the si
.1 Mahomet. Is it the name of the prophet attached to this lock or the
.elf that is boh ' lie that as it may, the Vxab rarely uncovers his skull,
and he conceals, with an almost Britannic modesty, this ridiculous ornament.
" In our soiree at Senouhres. chance procured us the favor oi seeing the
MahometS ot two ot our camel-drivers, the only two we shall perhaps ever see.
and we should be grieved to have lost this charming souvenir.
"Ophthalmia is the veritable plague which disfigures a goodly hall of the
population, and the number of blind and one-eyed people has multiplied to such
/.//■/• l\/> WORKS 01 II M iia'\ ,,!A,'iii. 149
an extent thai thru- is a proverb which sa'ys, 'Among three Arabs yon will a< • 1
find Inn tour ej es '
" Rice, wheat, maize, and sugar-cane form the substance oi the commodities
which figure 111 this open-air market, besides oranges and fruits oi every descrip-
tion, which till the baskets and are almost given awaj instead ol being sold.
Asses, camels, and buffaloes take the place of carls with these Oriental market-
gardeners, and the women are
1 the porters, while the
proprietors smoke their chib-
ouks and drink their coll-
nonchalantly reclining on rugs
and mats. Here, as every-
where in the Orient, woman
tills the role oi a domestic
animal condemned to the most
painful labor, and that most
ill-suited to her delicate nature;
a monstrous barbarism . con-
secrated by the Mussulman
religion, which is far from
having disappeared from the
Orient. The next day the
young sheikh came to make
us his adieux. and we left
regretfully this picturesque and
savage spol to regain Medinet.
" Medmet (which Ger6m<
ha- reproduced in his picture
of The Fayoum) is the principal
city of Fayoum, and ils name
is generally accompanied by that oi tin province itself. M€dinet-el-Fayoum
is very important from man} points oi view; commerce, trade, ami farming
are organized and administered in due order and even with a certain official
cachet. The viceroy has a resilience here and the movement takes on a
In 1 it of the tumultuous character ot Cairo. The city is traversed in all its
length by the immense Canal de Joseph, which reaches as far as the Lake
Birket-Keroun, and at this point widens to a veritable river. This size, extra-
ordinary for a canal, lias occasioned some discussion as to its real nature,
some attributing it to the hand ot man and others considering it only a
natural deviation of the Nile. Whether Joseph busied himself more or less with
I he plan, or whether nature alone was the engineer-in-chief, the canal is none
the less magnificent ; it is the principal artery of circulation and above all of
irrigation of the whole province, from the Lake ol Birket-Keroun to the Nile.
Immense barges and flat-bottomed boats, moored as far as the eye can see along
the brick quays, come to seek the grains and straw ot the last harvests.
150 LIFE <x/> works Of // tx i /. ox gerOme
Numerous caravans compete with this transportation by water and serve to
conned Medinel with Cairn. The importance oi this locality has decided the
governmenl to build a railroad across the sands and shifting dunes, a line even
now in process oi formation and on which we were soon to have an eventful
experience. Mcdinct is not a second Cairo, with its variety of buildings and
costumes; i1 is a greal provincial city, therefore there are few loungers bul
much animation between the buyers and sellers of the cereals and products oi
the country ; it is the commerce ol the fields on a grand scale. An interminable
ba tar, almost parallel with the canal, stretches from one end to the other of the
city ; one finds there in miniature the variety and crowding of the shops oi Cairo.
I be merchants and inhabitants have, however, a remarkable simplicity of
character. In spite of the uniformed soldiers who mingle with the crowd and
spoil the picturesque side, there are always the fellahs with their long blue robes
gathered Up at the belt with a cord, ami wearing a white turban or a simple
brown or white skullcap m coarse felt. By reason of changes forcibly broughl
about through this greater agglomeration, the women of Mcdinct are prettiei
and less savage than those we have hitherto seen in the province. Mam dis-
pense with tin- traditional veil, which by rights only allows the eyes to be seen,
and. with a beginning of studied coquetry, they know how to dress their hair
with taste, mingling with their long blue veils silk stuffs ol the most varied
tones and ornaments oi gold and silver of the finest workmanship.
"•1 was personally struck.' says Lenoir, ' l>\ a superb paii oi earrings which
dangled like a harness on the neck of a girl who was pretty enough but had a
very bad temper, for I bad a greal ileal of trouble m obtaining these jewels,
though paying roundly for them in j, r old. I began by following her. although
she walked very rapidly, carrying on her head the eternal earthen jug without
which a woman fellah would no longer be a woman ; she was going to a little
fountain which was at the extremity of the grand bazaar. The rapidity of her
oid the increasing obstructions in the street made me despair of catching
up with her. Perceiving that she was followed, and not supposing thai il
simply for her earrings, she burned on still more rapidlj and finally tied
through the bazaar like a gazelle, and wishing not to lose trace ol her in the
swarming crowd. I trotted and galloped alternately, without which I should
been infinitely distanced. I was just ready to give up the chase when a
happy chance came to m\ aid. In hei precipil one ol her yellow
babouches slipped from her foot ; although this precious savate had nothing in
common with the slipper oi Cinderella, she stopped to recover it; but I had
already picked it up as delicately as il it had been a fan and was aboul to hand
it to her with a tour de fori e ol -race and distinction. Hut it had quite an unex-
pected effect. What 1 intended as an a< t oi haute galanterie was on the contrary
very badly misinterpreted ; with only one fool -hod. she began to run i
ili. in ever, uttering ejaculations which had nothing of the melodious in their
sharp syllables. Not wishing to pass for .1 thief, and hoping to correct this tirst
unfortunate impression she bad received, I began to run. holding the yellow
slipper ill m\ hand ; she was not disheartened, neither was I ! And we would
///■/• AND WOKKs Of JEAN LEON GEE) 151
gone on thus as far as the third cataract, had she nol tired first. Finally,
arriving at the fountain, she sal down and consented to accept her heelless hool
and even offered me a drink from her jug. Although my profile did nol n semble
his. I thought of Eleazar and Rebecca. But instead «>i bringing her jewels and
demanding her hand. I only had an affair with hei foot, and had jusl b
her to let >«<■ have her ornaments! She was easily coaxed, for I showed her
one of the irresistible thirty-sou scarfs, with which I nevei forgol to provide
myself, and. thanks to this talisman of the Occident. I entered directly into
business negotiations. " Bekam ii ' " I said, indicating her long earrings. She
replied by a flood of words; not understanding the result ol her calculation, I
showed hei a bil oi Arabic monej about the value ol two francs. She took it.
and taking of) one ol her rings laid ii in my hand and made a pretense of going
away. This was nol enough, and 1 was determined to have the other; there
was a new- bargain to conclude and 1 returned at last to the bazaar with my
trophy. The affair had evidently been profitable to her, for, " )'a habibi ketir,"
etc. I had become an "intimate friend," and as a souvenir she gave me her
yellow babouches into the bargain. I put them on my heart and slipped away
from my Cinderella in the crowd of the bazaar.
I found my friends gravely seated in the shop of a tobacco-merchant,
seemingly holding a council of war. and debating a question of the gravest im-
portance. It was indeed worth the trouble; the merchant was showing them
a small sphinx in granite, of the finest style and workmanship, without the
slightest fracture. This treasure, this antique sculpture, charmed us all, and we
discussed seriously the price and the conditions under which we could become
owners ot this beautiful rosy stone. The polish ol the granite and the astonish-
ing state ot preservation of this chef-d'oeuvre had so struck us that at firsl we
were inclined to question its acte-de-naissance. Hut Gerome, grand amateur and
archaeological expert, vouched tor the real value of the object. The price asked.
however, seemed to him exorbitant, ami the weighl oi this miniature Pha
monolith made him anxious as to the facility of transport hack to Bougival.
How much has he since regretted the lost occasion, having had leisure to
appreciate its value ! Few hits of sculpture in the Egyptian Miisee ol the
Louvn have the charm ol this little sphinx, which is perhaps still hidden away
m the shop at \hdiiiet, unless it figures on tin- clock of some unknown col-
lector. Perhaps some Englishman has ordered a pendant in order to ha
pair of fire-dogs of the twenty-third dynast] '
We leave this entertaining journal for an instant to describe G6r6me's picture
of Le Fayoutn. It is a charmingly picturesque bit of landscape, with its spread-
ing sycamore affording welcome shade foi man and beast, and its delicate doum-
palms mirrored in the limpid watei across which a fellah trips lightly on a single
plank, balancing a water jar. Beside the arched walls, with their graceful
minarets, swarthy w hite-t urbatied Arabs move to and fro, chatting and chaffer-
ing, or sit upon the embankments ol a rude bridge, watching the arrival ol a
I.S-' I II I AND WORKS <>l / 1 I .\ L&ON Cl.i
chief, who canters gayly up on his snow-white horse, followed by Ins retinue.
A heavily laden ass plods along under the blazing sun, while others are awaiting
theii burdens neat the walls ol the city. The scene is lull oi animation and
color, and an infinite varietj oi grouping and outline. As Gautier says : "When
draughtsmen and painters "I history apph their science to landscape, they obtain
surprising effects. The landscapists by profession, ion much occupied with
details, do not know how to bring "tit to advantage the contours that exist as
much in .\ landscape as they do in the human face." To return to ihe records ol
t Ins interesting journey :
"Like all the cities oi Fayoum, Medinef contains a greal number ol Copts.
Christians like ourselves; curious debris of this most ancienl population befor<
the establishment oi [slamism in Egypi ; these Copts, in the exterior practice oi
their religion, have preserved hut little oi the customs oi the ancienl Greek
church. l"he ceremony ol the mass has been greatly altered, and the most
prominent characteristic of their culte is the fashion in which thej eat pork and
drink wine righl before the nose oi Mohammed I An Italian monk is installed al
Medinet, the last stone ol a Latin monastery oi considerable importance, which
had for its aim the bringing back to Catholicism oi these almosl barbarous
Christians.
" In our quality oi strangers, this good Father regarded us as compatriots
and came to make our encampment a most affectionate visit. He gave us \er\
curious information aboui the Christian population oi Medinel in general and
his flock in particular; invited us to come and see his little rectory, and was
melted to tears when we spoke to him of Italy in his native language! He
oil. nil us fruits from Ins garden and wine from his vineyard. In acknowledg-
ment ol his amiability we presented him with a jar ol Liebig's heel-extract, which
recalled to him his distant country and the bouillon he had not heard mentioned
for forty-tour years ; lor roast beef, boiled beef, or beefsteaks are as unknown in
Egypi as a file! oi crocodile m Paris, The buffalo is uneatable and the Egyptian
ox, with Ins twisted feel and horns turned upside down, does not figure on the
lisl id food supplies. Thanks to the importance oi Medinet, we had a good deal
of trouble in finding a place for our tents. A laundry and abattoir, against which
d unconsciously hacked up, forced us to move off farther. It was not an
-Han io imd a place, lor the proprietors did not seem eager to entertain us.
While we were strolling along one of the branches of the canal, our dragi
like a \ el liable Solomon, solved the difficult \
\ large field, bordered with cacti, presented a most inviting appearance;
only, the middle oi this attractive prairie was occupied by stacks ol maize, dried
and carefullj arranged.
"Bu1 a dragoman who has a real saber doesn'1 care for little details like
ilia 1 Ai a Bign, the donkey-boys, camel-drivers, domestics, and he himseli
i. ii io work; the hedge was scaled and the bunches of maize Hew through the
air as il by enchantment. In the twinkling ol an eye Ihe place was cleared
THE ROSE
LIFE AND WORKS OF /■ GER&ME 1 53
and our tents peacefully pitched on this field of battle so oddly conquered.
We wen a little anxious as to the dinoucment oi this socialistic proceeding, and
the interpretation the proprietor would not fail to put on it. Bui our drago-
man, who was possessed ol a special toupet (cheek!), and a still more Oriental
imagination, anticipated the danger; he wenl to see the owner of the field
and explained that the prince (Gerdmi I) whom he escorted was doing him a
great honor in thus being willing to install himsell on his property I Charmed
by this flattering preference, the proprietor was almosl read) to come himself
•nd aid our donkey-boys to pitch his last ricks ol straw ovi i thi bedgi . when
our camels had already begun to bave a least' We made several excursions
around the country. The extraordinary fertility ol this part of the province
surpassed anything we could imagine . several harvests are gathered every year.
The clover, for instance, is cut three times, and attains a beighl unknown in our
best land. This rich earth, fertilized by the mud oi the Nile, lias no need oi
the rest so necessary for our cultivated lands. Scarcely has the wheat been
harvested when the plowshare turns up the soil to prepare it for a new
sowing. A camel or an ass generally draws the plow; the buffalo is often
ved to work the wells and saquiehs. The soil, softened by constant mi
gation, is so easily worked that the plow resembles a stool turned over, with
one toot serving as a plowshare. It is not the large, heavy, shining iron
which at home seems to try to turn up the howcls of the earth to the lighl ol
day. Here it is sometimes a simple hit ol wood, which moves along IS il b]
enchantment in the midst of furrows made in advance, which open ot them-
selves before it. Everything in this marvelous country has the appearance
of a dream. Where we use steam machinery, the fellah scratches the soil with
a match ' I'he OX, which one meets oftener in Syria, is quite rare in this part
of Egypt. The only ones seen here are generally small, with deformed feet,
and very long horns hen 1 back like those of an antelope. An enormous hump
over the withers resembles a natural deformity, and only serves better to hold
the harness fixed on its head. Its color is drab or yellow, sometimes almost pale
enough to he called wdtite. Can this ungainly animal claim its family papers
descendant ol the famous Apis? He that as il maw he is very ungrace-
ful. The hieroglyphic paintings and figures that reproduce the sacred hull
hear only a feeble resemblance to this strange animal. In this country, which
was almosl always occupied by pastoral people, we did not see many Hocks, ,w^\
tho which we did see did not maintain theii reputation; the little black sheep,
with their long In ads res tmbled goats more than sheep. As tar as that goes, the
Arab, who is not hard to please, finds the wool .it camels sufficient for his needs
.mil foi the coarse texture ol his clothing. The finesl stuffs which we saw on
the fellahs, and particularly on the women, come from Cairo, and are sometimes
imported from Europe. Blue is the almost uniform color ol all the clothing in
these countries. ddie usual short frock of the donkey-boys, the long robe of
the fellahs, the square tunic of the camel-drivers, are invariably blue, from
the deepi 1 i" the lightest shade, according to the use of the garmenl 01
the uncleanliness of the owner. In the country, this sofl tone enhances the
154 'HI IJVD WORKS <>/■ /.' U\ LEOA G&R&UI
values oi the grays and reds of the soil. The lighl robes of the women (habbara),
and their long veils, oi which we took many samples at Senouhres, arc of a
much deeper blue than the other costumes. These stuffs, of a finer mixture
of silk and wool, possess the flexibility, transparency, and brilliancy of whal a
Parisian modiste calls grenadine. They lend themselves admirably to the
tonus the) cover, and however peremptory the law of Mohammed in regard to
modesty, he certainly did not foresee the nature of the gauzy stuffs which the
women so skillfully use to ameliorate this severe decree. Only concealing tui-
tions, these conventional veils leave almost nothing to the imagination,
Often one would even wish there were more, mi greal a charm is there in the
unknown, which surpasses the reality in beauty! The children have for their
sole covering the skin furnished them by nature, and which seems to contain
them with difficulty. The climate and the vegetable nourishment which forms
the substance oi their food produce among them a state ol precocious obesity most
painful to see. This exaggerated inflation deforms them entirely, sometimes to
the age oi eleven years, when their proportions begin to gain a more symmet-
rical form In spite ol the charm of 0UI sojourn at Mcdinct. in spite of
the series id ready-made pictures which met us at each step, and seemed to lie
in wail tor us at the corner of each street and ot each bazaar, our expedition to
Sinai and Arabia Petraea had been arranged, so thai we were forced to begin
to think oi leaving the province of Fayoum. A ravishing country, on account
ol Us essentially gentle and primitive character, with its inhabitants of the
Bible and savage vegetation ; a veritable terrestrial paradise, where the pa tot il
people, from lather to sou. continue to put their whole strength into the culti-
vation of their lields. We were going to leave this living page ot Genesis to
enter again the brouhaha of the restless and unhealthy world which has already
invaded Cairo, and. by means of steam, electricity, and asphalt, has succeeded
in replacing the natural charms of the 'Thousand and One Nights' by the
accessories of the Boulevard Malesherbes and the RueTronchel ' . . . .
"To commence with steam, we send back our asses, camels, and baggage
and go to take our tickets at the station oi Mcdinet-cl-Kayoum. The station?
Well, there was none as yet, but there is to-day. with beautiful e,atcs punted
green, and beautiful employees, brand new. \s tar as that goes, stations are
quite useless. One takes the train where one pleases, along the wayside; it
Stops Willi all the ease of a fiacre taken by the hour, and if there are some
stations marked on the indicator, they are placed there solely from a decorative
point ol view! ddie stations occur very often and no matter where accord-
ing to the laws of a most unforeseen fatality. To light a pipe, to pick a blue-
bell, to shoot a duck, are among the thousand pretexts for the train to make a
bait . it tins oil; an point lasts too long, you can sit down to breakfast on the
track and make coffee there, provided you do not set the cars on lire! About
nine o'clock in the morning we boarded the train without any other adminis-
trative formalitj than shutting the door after us. We stayed there two hours!
Thanks t>> out sketchbooks, winch li.udh ever left us, the time was not lost,
and we made numerous sketches ol our neighbors under pretext of taking
//// L\/> WORKS Of //■ M li<<\ <,/.'■■ 155
notes for the administration. The good Italian Father came to bid us farewell,
and left us with tears in his voice as he thanked us for the pol ol Liebig with
which we had enameled his existence. At the cud oi anothei hour, the train.
composed oi a series oi indescribable old boxes, made a star! and we moved off,
carrying awa} from tins lovely country, which we quitted with regret, hearts
and portfolios crammed with charming souvenirs.
'The line of the railroad runs almost directly between the sand and the
cultivated lands ; thus, from a certain point of view, we could not complain of the
slowness of our queer locomotive. At our lefl the whitish line of the desert ; at
the right smiling vegetation and charming views. It was a veritable magic
lantern, and we were jolting along in a pleasant dream when tin- alarm whistle
signaled a station thai is to say, a breakdown! First entr'acte in the middl<
ot a field no moie coal ' This was the prime reason. At the first village the
children run to pick up whatever they can find, some trunks ol palm trees,
brushwood, and debris oi every description, and wesi.ni again, our locomotive
digesting with difficulty the varied and odoriferous fuel which has been crammed
into its stomach. Another whistle, new halt ; no breakdown this time, but
station, although there is no sign of a building nor an official cap. The
village which occasions this second halt lies along the Nile: it is called lib
Wastah, a pretty little town, regularly laid oul and almost clean. It is a point
.a junction on the riverwith the line from Medinet, where the barges disi
their loads or lake on the merchandise brought by the trains. Consequently one
sees there a great number of camels which ply between the Nile and the rail-
Ihis station was no joke ; we had two boms before us which we agreeabh
spent in breakfasting on the grass under the palm trees, in company ol all the
dogs of the village, who respectfully ranged themselves around us, begging for
.1 1 bicken or duck bone. Escorted by these unbidden quests, we strolled through
El-Wastah. The bai tulle grouped, lend a charming animation to this
little port. On the invitation of the owner we visited a lovely pleasure boat,
which was only waiting for roving amateurs to descend or ascend the river; but,
faithful to our cardboard tram, we lett these enchanted shores to climb again
into our box. We were oil; but too Minn, a whistle; breakdown! stop .
no more fuel! and right out in the open country, as far from I'lV/.ch as we are
from El- Wastah ! We finished by accommodating ourselves to this Way of the
Cross; we got out with our guns. The engineet declared he had just enough
combustiblf to go done with his machine to look for reinforcements. This
proposition was unanimously adopted without anyone bein- consulted ; and he
lett us there in the lurch. Several stout gentlemen in clean tarbouchs, who
musl have been personagi "i importance, obtained the favoi oi accompanying
tlie engineer, bul they fared badly, tor the machine itself had to stop farthi
right in among the sand hills. It was doubtless one of these stout privileged
functionaries who went to Gyzeh OH foot ami persuaded t he council ol adminis-
tration to -,eud Inst for tin locomotive, and afterward to think of the ir.i
who were dying of hungei in the open air. We had a six hours' wait, during
which we struggled with famine, unable even to dance attendance at the buffi 1
I 5" I II I 'V/' WORKS Of II M //i>\ i,/!
Several of us went oil hunting and returned with one duck, eighl sparrows, and
a rat! We were content. Our ingenious dragoman had gathered up some
precious fragments ol fuel winch had fallen hum the Locomotive along the
track, and succeeded in furnishing us with a second-hand supper with the
remains of the chicken and the coffee oi the morning.
•The nighl had come ; with closed doors we were snoring, careless of the
future, without thinking thai another train coming from behind might crash
into us, hut Mohammed watched over us. Toward ten o'clock in the evening, a
locomotive, with piercing shrieks from its whistle, 1 led on to our coupes and
imalh dragged us out of this hopeless solitude. We were fairly dazzled on oui
awakening; for a station, lighted by gas, transported us suddenly into the heart
ol the most trivial European civilization, and, half-asleep, we wen almosl read]
to ask for the omnibus for the Palais Royale! But we were far enough from
n foi it was ancient Gyzeh at which we had just sleepily alighted, and for an
omnibus there was a hoat to take us across the Nile below the Isle ol Roudah.
A steeple chase soon organized itsell between the passengers, to get the last
places on hoard the lm\ boat which was getting up steam several hundred paces
from the station. Donkeys were ready for us on the other side, and, preceded by
the donkey-boys and their fanous, we committed ourselves and our beasts to the
oi Heaven as far as the hotel. Alter so varied a series ol emotions, a
restorative supper did not come amiss ; we slept while eating, and, had our bed-
rooms not been au premier, we would have been found snoring on the table the
next clay. Our dear invalid was better and we were eaiine; to he able to re-
commence our wanderings
"By daybreak we had found our way to the superb Avenue of Choubrah, a
perfect vault oi verdure, more than three kilometers long. The sycamores and
is which form a hedge on both sides ol the road, and whose knotty branches
interlace overhead, are ol extraordinary dimensions. A delightful gallop ol an
hour and a hall brought us to the door of a charming villa, the chief attraction
of which was a real atelier, with easels, canvases, everything necessary to paint
alter nature. An atelier on the hank of the Nile' a dream realized, ami all the
palaces oi the pashas were not worth this enormous window with its laryje*
green curtains! We received a most cordial welcome and could speedily have
forgotten that we were in Egypt, had not the Nile and the Pyramids lain before
our eyes. The disk of the moon had arrived at its stage of most accentuated
leanness, and. in consequence, our cavalcade that evening met with various
tumbles into pools and holes, which forciblj retarded our return to Cairo. We
arrived looking like thieves, and sundry kicks were necessary before we suc-
ceeded in having OUT Own doors opened and escaped being devoured hv thl
oi watchman.
"The dogs of Cairo (of which ('icromc has given us various specimens.
notably in the picture entitled ./ Warm Day in Cairo) deserve honorable
mention, not lor the elegance ol their forms hut on account of the important
mle thev play m the citv and in every particular street. Black and drab, they
resemble wolves and jackals more than do,e,s. They are the real guardians
///•/ l.\/> WORKS Of /EAA L&ON <,/'/■ [59
ol the clival an hour when every honest man is supposed to be asleep and
only rascals abroad. The) evidently place on the latter list all Europeans
who continue their habits of dining out, going to a ball and coming home
late. In order to return alive from these various operations, it is prudent to
go "ii ass-back, accompanied l>\ a stent bludgeon or a revolver. To keep to
the middle ol the road is also wise, for ii you !>nt graze the shops confided
to the care ol these molosses, you expose yourself to the most unequal struggle
and undeserved lutes. The expression 'Jezebel devoured by dogs,' which I have
always considered as a sort ol poetical exaggeration, is nothing of the kind;
it is easily explicable when one sees these ferocious animals who devour each
other when enough old women do not tumble from the windows! There exists
a sort ol canine federation which assigns to each his street and his quarter;
ii a dog finds himseli out ol his domain, all those in the strange street fall
on him and tear him to shreds. It is a corporation with a regular syndicate
and laws. For the maintenance ot this police, the butcher in each street has
charge ol souls and stomachs; he owes all his debns to the do^s ot his quarter,
ami the hour of distribution gives rise to most unexpected groupings, needy
families always occupying the front row.
"We wished to carefully examine all thai we had but obtained a glimpse ol
during our first stay in Cairo. The bazaar being close to our hotel, we I
there. \l the end ol the Monski. a wide covered way divides the quarter where
all these bazaars seem to be grouped. At the left are the jewelers, on the right
1 la si nils, carpels, shoes, and costumes of every description : farther on. the sad-
dlers' bazaar, where one finds harness, saddles, and all the accessories ot travel.
(Gerome's picture, Buying a Bridle, otherwise known as , // ///,■ Saddlery, repro-
duces this bazaar and gives ns the portrait ol a superb while horse to boot. 1 But
the so-called bazaar of arms is absurd, for tin Hfitel Drouot has bought up the
greater part ol these Eastern bibelots de luxe. We saw at Cairo only horrible
modem blades coming from Brussels or England, which betrayed by theii
brilliancy their trumpery European origin. To say that there were none genu-
ine or beautiful would be to exaggerate, but they were rare. The jewelers'
bazaar offered the most unique effects. It is not on a level with the rest of the
11. 1 1 ; oik- is forced 1,1 descend several steps and squeeze in with the crowd that
always blocks up the narrow door. It is an immense caravansary rather than a
Penned up like animals in a show, each goldsmith has his quarters,
his mysterious coffers, his weighing apparatus, his pipe, and his spectacles. In
this marvelous den we laid in an abundant slock of souvenirs in tin- shape ot
lets, collars, etc. The premium accorded in the Orient to all Euro
money, and French in particular, nivcs rise here to a irer} simple mode ot pay-
UK 111. 'Idle jewelry is placed in one scale, your gold in the oilier, lor such is
their mode oi establishing an equilibrium between their merchandise and your
twenty-franc pieces ; for in the jewelry of nearly uniform fabrication the work-
manship does not count. From the jewelers', we crossed to the stuffs and vest-
ments; pelisses, waistcoats, long robes for men, everything was heaped together
and hung up ill thi disorder.
160 LIFE \ND WORKS 01 II I \ .']//
"The abayes and long robes with fitted sleeves arc the two garments mosl
generally worn in Egypt and Syria. The abayes arc the winter mantles which
the Arab puts on as a dernier ressort against the cold. This garment, consist-
ing <>! a large square piece oi cloth, is cul with biblical simplicity; it is the
tunic oi the Hebrews, a sack with square openings for the head, arms, and legs.
Luxury, which takes possession oi everything, has succeeded in making of this
classic vestmenl a real objet d'art.b} the nature of the texture and the incom-
parable embroideries with winch it is sometimes entirely covered ; the abaye
oi the camel-driver has no other ornament than two greal brown stripes which
run from one end to the other. In the countries farther away from Cairo, the
abaye has othei shades, In the environs oi Petra, these large stripes arc bine.
and the garmenl is sometimes lined with furs, bu1 in the desert the primitive
color oi the sinii is general!) simplified bj the weai and tear and most uni-
form dirtiness. The abayes in green silk, ornamented with embroideries in
silver, produce a ravishing effect. There an samples fo taste, from
black embroidered with gold, to the most delicate shades. One finds here also
a complete assortment oi kouffies in ever) style. The waistcoats, vests, tunics,
and robes hardh ever change their forms, but the stuff S with their silky
reflections vary infinitel) and produce always new effects. Half-wpol, half-
cotton, these stuffs give the effect oi being made oi silk; being profusely
gummed and glazed, they lose much b\ being put in water. The slci
these garments, widening like a funnel, seem at firsl sight as it the) would
restrain the freedom <d the arm ; but this surplus stuff, falling over the hands
preserves them from the painful effects oi the sun. These ample costumes,
which seem to be made only to astonish strangers and embarrass those who
wear them, are, on the contrary, admirably adapted to the requirements oi the
most natural laws of hygiene in a country where one struggles continually
against a torrid heat. The silk stuffs in which the Arabs litcialh swathe their
heads, far from stilling them, produce a refreshing coolness, the more an Arab
is covered with loose woolen garments, the less he suffers from the sun.
"To go on to the Gobelins. Several oi us had a weakness tor these admi-
rable ruj^s. which are made in Persia and sold in greal quantities in Cairo. The
Com de lapis (reproduced in ''.dome's famous Carpet- Merchant), aside from
the marvels sold there, is in itself very interesting, presenting one ol the most
picturesque interiors to be found in Cairo. The installations oi the merchants.
their cupboards and coll ns </< reserve, arc veritable chefs-d'oeuvre oi SCulpturi
\ erandas in carved wood shield the shops from loo much light, and this twilight,
skillfully managed, Only broughl out more admirably the striking colors ol these
beautiful carpets. We bad the pritneurs of the recently arrived new cargo
the chance- was too good to be lost. It was a real Org) ; the) must have taken us
lor commission-merchants, and nothing arrested our purchases but the expensive
question of transportation oi all these riches
"Feeling the need ol repose, we sought quarters that would be well worth
studying meanwhile, and where the dhuns and coffee would bear some pro-
portion to the importance ol out ca\ as. We therefore decided to visit the
LIFE \ND WORKS Oi a l\ LEON GEROME. [6l
hi ambassador, to refresh ourselves at his expense and do him honor!
These visits, which are made so familiarly a1 home, take on here in the Orienl
,i majestic and official character almost comical. You go to visil somebody you
do not know; in your charactei ol stranger, be gorges you with liqueurs and
bonbons and deluges you with coffee, and ii is he thai is profuse in thanks for
the honor you have shown hi in. On our way we promised ourselves i In- pleasure
of reclining on luxurious divans, bul we had not calculated the progress ol
European civilization. The ambassador united us to sit down on horrible
mahogany chairs, persuaded, doubtless, that he was filling up the measure of our
desires by this delicate at tent ion. These fitting adornments of a ready- furnished
apartment contrasted singularly with the Oriental richness of this sumptuous
abode; fountains ol porphyry, colonnades ol marble, paintings touched up with
gold and inlaid with tortoise-shell, made of t his enchanted palace a queer
assembl] ol the richest products oi the Orient and the commonest trivialil
our European furnishings. In spite ol our disappointment in finding ourselves
,is if we wereat home, we were none the less charmed bj the princelj
welcome w d. After the customary compliments, the ambassador pre-
sented to us his smb. very distinguished-looking young people, whose ward
rolns were supplied by Dusautoy, and who had nothing ol the Persian about
them save their pointed caps ol black cloth. The interpreter explained to us
how complete their education was. and rather maliciously added, just at the end
of our visit, that they spoke French admirably! Happily, we had not indulged
m ioo many indiscreel reflections suggested bj some details ol this sti
interior. We visited in order the chambers, the gardens, and the stables,
veritable marvels of Asiatic luxury with which the Persians love to surround
themselves, but which is almost always spoiled by some bibelot in bad taste or
some absurd prosaic accessory. 'Idle bath room, all in Persian faience, and the
painted wooden wainscoting and ceilings, excited oui particular and enthusiastic
admiration. In going out, aftei having taken leave ol our hosts, we ran against
a black colossus who was half-concealed by the obscurity ot the passage ; by the
jingling of his chains we recognized that it was a eunuch decorated with jewels
like a Spanish mulet, (GerOme's picture ol the (.rami White Eunuch, with its
delicious glimpse ol the harem in the background, not vouchsafed to the visitors
thai day, is a reminiscence of this encounter I Guardian of the special harem ol
thi ambassador, this splendid figure was a fair type of these extraordinary beings,
whom we had alread) remarked at Cairo. Clothed in gaudy stuiK this living
baldachino was literallj covered with jewels, collars, bracelets, and rings, thai
announced his presence from afar, lb- saluted us. not understanding thi
-a with which his social position inspired us. A saber longer than himself
dragged at the i nd oi a -dl. scar! and mad.- us think ol Blue-Beard ; therefore
we did not lounge in thai corridor for any length of time! Women only have
the privilege of entering thesi harems, which have been described by some
imaginative writers in terms more or less improbable and false.
"In the Orient, the harem is more of a luxury than a social institution, and
is supported more through vanity than love ol debauch. The harem is the
[6a /.//■/■ / \ /> WORKS Of II ■ l.\ I i.t>.\ GiRdMl
barometer ol the fortune oi every importanl personage, and his income is esti-
mated more according to the number of women which he counts in his gynecie,
than of the horses in his stables. \ fail valuation can be made by counting the
number oi eunuchs al the door. As to the life oi the harem, we have had for a
long time verj incomplete glimpses given by visitors authorized to penetrate the
sanctum. The sister ol the celebrated Egyptologisl Lane has made a very
interesting resume oi all thai we could see, tell, or write on this subject. The
seclusion "I the women oi the harem has been much i rated, for, although
nun can never gain admittance there, the women have ever} facility for going to
the bath or to \isit among themselves. How often did we meel them on their
rulih led asses, moving freely through the streets, simply preceded by
a sais or a slave. The women one does not see in the Orienl are evidently the
mosi beautiful; those one sees are more strange-looking than prettj ; and those
whom one regrets to have seen, show themselves the mosi freely ' The nai
the women are nol very varied; thanks to this simplification, one can easily
attain the favor oi seeing the physiognomies oi the feminine inhabitants of an
entire quarter. ' Fatma ! Fatma !' you cry al hazard in the street, and fifteen
to twenty Fatmas automatically open the ventilators <>i the moucharabiehs like
the birds in a cuckoo-clock! In this collection, several certainly . merit the
trouble oi this rude subterfuge. It was a Fatma whom we persuaded to come
and pose for us. It was a new thing for her, and in our honor she pu1 on all
her richesl ornaments. A tall, beautiful girl, her fine, expressive head was a
thorough type oi the besl Egyptian woman; her sole faull was thai she drank
araki like a camel-driver and smoked like a Swiss ! But one cannot have every-
thing. The mosi absurd greediness and childishness form the particular
characteristics oi these naive and almost savage natures, which are brought up
like rare birds, or trained animals, to sing, dance, dunk, smoke, and sleep.
I atma did nol fear to trample underfoot thai special law oi the Prophel that
forbids photography and all reproduction of the human figure. She carried
awa\ sufficient and varied bakchichs to immortalize our memory in her heart,
and she fell heir to the whole stock oi thirty-sou scarfs that had nol been given
awaj in Fayoum, and which would have no temptations for the austere monks
oi Sinai.
"One oi the chiei ceremonies oi the Mussulman religion happened to coin-
cide with our stay in Cairo and formed one oi the most impressive souvenirs oi
• hi i journey, the Departure of the Carpet (kisweh) for Mecca. This carpel is the
annual offering ol the Viceroy to the mosque oi the holy city ol the Prophel ;
,i royal presenl which gives to the departure ol the caravan a mosi
imposing official and religious character. The day before, the whole city is a
prey to the most unaccustomed excitement ; curious sightseers go to reserve
their places, and pilgrims gather al the spot from which the caravan is to
: d parture the next day. It is near the Porte de la Victoire that the cortege
assembles. Richly harnessed, the dromedaries for the travelers, and even the
simple baggage-camels, are the objects ol the admiration and attention ol the
entire population; the fanatics crowd around the animals and seem to wish to
/.//•/• AND WORKS 01 // l\ LEOA <,/ 163
sanctify themselves by contact with them. The religious character of this fi te
exacts the greatest reserve on the part of the Europeans who wish to observe
11 we were mounted on asses, and in make some concession to the Prophet we
had put on for the firsl time the ordinary tarbouch, that absurd red skull-cap
imported into Europe by pashas in disgrace and b) photographs ad libitum.
The place in front "I the citadel was the superb position we had chosen to
re\ Lew t his procession. On our way we encountered a compai i crowd struggling
mi in tin- same direction, and it was nol without much hustling that our asses
could breast 1 li i -. deluge of humanity. The women, clad in their most beautiful
blue robes, with their nails freshly painted and all their jewels displayed, -
to be the most eager in the midst ot all tins tumult. Under such circumstani -
the zaghrouta.s. sort ol hen-like clucking which they make with theii toi
is the mo>t ordinar} mode ol expressing their religious enthusiasm. At each
corner, animated groups escorted the parts oi the procession winch were
going toward the general rendezvous; cawas, armed with courbaches, opened a
way through the crowd for the little brotherhood they preceded, freely distribut-
ing thumps to the children, dogs, and asses who did nol take themselves out ol
the way quickly enough. Behind them marched the musicians with their
instruments, the darabouka, the cymbals, and the flutes which form theii
orchestra. Following them the uUmas, the dervishes, and the other func-
tionaries ol the mosque of the quarter escorting the pilgrims who were going to
forma pari of the grand caravan. Stopped ever} twent} paces by these smaller
sions, and by the always increasing proportions ol the crowd, we were at
last able to reach the Place Roumeileh. where the most extraordinarj spectacle
we had ever witnessed awaited us.
"The citadel was before us. its picturesque door richly draped with tl ■
at our right, the perspective ol Mokattam and the first mosques ol the caliphs ;
behind, the Mosque ol Hassan, which covered the entire place with its gigantic
shadow. In this magnificent framework this picture was to present itself to oui
curious eyes. As m all complicated fetes, there was a delay, but in spite ol the
blockades we arrived just in time. A hedge of soldiers stretched the whole
length of the place, to free tin path of the procession and protect it from the
fanatii demonstrations of the crowd. Finally, the cannon from the citadel
sounded the departure and the entire city, perched on its terraces, replied by the
most frightful cries ol joy; some raised their arms to heaven, others prostrated
themselves in the dust ; the women struck up their chant, or rather their pierc-
ing cries ol satisfaction, the camels and the asses mingled their guttural obser-
vations with the concert, and the noise was overpowering. The procession ol
court equipages began. Preceded by detachments of military, infantry and
artillery, these vehicles, decked out with plumes and gilding, furnished onh a
long and tedious prelude to the real procession, while the cannon, sounding at
intervals, accentuated the official and almost dramatic side oi this strange
ceremony. Suddenly the cries redoubled, heads turned with feverish haste in
the direction ol the bazaar which connects the grand palace oi Karanicidan with
that ol the citadel. The terraces, the minarets, and the ruined walls seemed to
I'l I
/.//■/• AND WORKS Ol II !\ ii,<\ ,,IKo\li
sink under the weighl ol the multitudes piled up on them, and it was strange
that these worm-eaten constructions did nol crumble under this agitated crowd.
The women were number one in this universal row, their shrill and prolonged
cries dominating the tumuli. Our ears ran-, our .asses pranced, and our
dragoman signaled us to conceal our pipes, for the carpel was approaching. Two
men, entirely nude and executing extraordinary leaps, preceded the co
these two lunatics are what are called saint-.
religious and venerable personages who embrace
this career for want "i a trade more to theit
taste. Thi piet) oi the faithful, who furnish
them with everything, had economized to-day
in regard to their wardrobe, which consisted
"I a cord around the waist Ihilli.nil
hers and numerous eawas. seconded by the
soldiers ol the regular army, with difficulty
kepi hack the crowd, which precipitated itself
under the feel oi the white
dromedary, the hearer of the
precious gift of the pilgrims.
Entirely hidden under its orna-
ments oi brocade and gold, this
magnificent animal advanced with
difficult] under the weighl ol
the enormous catafalque which
swayed slowly on its back. In
form of a lent, this monument
was surmounted by a rich
and surrounded bj lour oilier turrets; the entire canopy was sparkling with
embroideries m -old and precious stones. The slult itself, ol green silk.
was almost entirely hidden by this mass of riches. The head of the drome-
dary was loaded down with ost rich-])l unies and pompons ol silk and mar-
velous embroideries. The rest of its trappings were in harmony with the
J tones of the catafalque, which, entirely <>t green and gold, produced
from a distance a most dazzling effeel
Then came the musicians mounted OH dromedaries ol ever) shade ol
beaut) : these men. half nude, executed an internal music at a little dis-
tance from the carpel ; then animals were painted with henna and covered
wnh ornaments in gaud] colors. These unhappy creatures gave themselves
up, with an indescribable zeal, to the deafening role confided to them.
ed, doubtless, for the trade, some of them presented curious examples
oi deformity; their cheeks, immoderatel] distended by the inflation necessi-
tated h\ the blowing of their musettes, seemed to form a pari oi the instru-
ment, such fabulous proportions did they attain. Immense drums, placed on
each side of the hum]' of the camel, recalled our ancient kittle-drummers;
al quantity ol shrill fifes competed wnh the trumpets and cymbals and
LIFE AND WORKS 01- JEAN LEON GEROME. 1 65
11 ni the air till the blood rushed to our ears. Bui it seems thai the excellence
ol these maestri is measured by the row thej mak<
" The camel carrying the carpel made a long pause on the square. Without
decreasing in the slightest degree the inflation of their cheeks, the musicians,
more deafening than ever, ranged themselves on each side. This hall per-
mitted us to note con si ii ntiously the details of this strange and magnificenl U te.
The rest of the procession then advanced to the center oi the square, several
paces from us. A monstrous santon, entirely nude, opened the march. (In his
Sanion before the /><><>/• <</ </ Mosque, G6r6me has skillfully represented one of
these extraordinary creatures.) The dromedar) on which he balanced himself
was painted with henna and entirel} covered l>\ brilliant cloths and trappings.
The crowd, drunk with fanaticism, broke through the line of soldiers which
guarded the passage of the caravan; men. women, and children rushed to kiss
t, the knees, the hands of this horrible monster, who rolled in tat on his
gilded saddle. The height to which he was hoisted prevented the greater part of
1 Ik faithful from reaching more than his sacred feet. As tar as that ^oes. the
santon. but little relishing the veneration of the crowd, agitated himself like a
dog tormented b\ flies, Exasperated, doubtless, by the touches lavished on him
by the crowd, he distributed from time to nine the most formidable kicks to
those whose fervor tickled too much. Balancing himself, he seemed to keep
time to the music, as if the dromedary was still on the march. Was it a desire
lo gel awav or impatience to return to Mecca:' It was difficult to read in this
swollen and oily visage, almost buried under the tangled locks which fell ovei
it, and which had not been combed foi an age. The audacity with which the
women in particular scaled the hedge of cawas ami sapties in order to reach this
hideous baboon, was remarkable. The most marvelous and beneliceiit proper-
ties are ascribed to mere contact with this lump of melting grease. They
touched him with everything they owned that was precious to them, then
clothing, their jewels, their children, to restore their health or preserve them
II misfortune in the future. Those who were too small or too feeble lo
reach the great toes of this hippopotamus, hung on to the dromedary and satiated
him with their transports of ferocious piety. The unhappy beast undei
nothing of this new kind of currying bestowed "ii him by these savae.es. who
seemed lo wish lo devour him alive,
"II is at once curious ami sad to see wh.it a point human folly will reach
when consecrated and rendered louver incurable l>\ .111 idiotic and barbarous
religion. Alter having observed all the repulsive details of this religious ore;y.
the rest of the caravan tiled before us. richly equipped, the pilgrims having
vied vvilli each other in luxurious display and new inventions; some of them,
sheltered in a sort ol cave covered with awnings, displayed their Oriental art
in decorating these little traveling habitations. The richest stuffs and emblem-
atic lla^rs in brilliant colors tastefully adorned these motley cots. Others,
Simply covered by the tent canvas, were remarkable, however, on account ol
the accessories necessitated by the long journey, which dangled from every
side; gargoulettes, narghilehs, lances, and armes de luxe, shields, bags of provi-
I ll I AND WORKS or n
sians, all were suspended like trophies on the flanks of the animal, which seemed
to be impressed with a sense oi its importance on account ol ill if carried
"ii its back. After a march ol two hours came the poor pilgrims, who.
trusting in the protection ol the Prophet, were going to make this long and
painful journej on foot, The} were no! very young, and in the ranks was
more than one verj old man who seemed more likely to die on tin
"i" al leasl al his journey's end, than to return. Among these unhapp;
tures we noticed a greal numbei wearing the green turban, a distinctive sign
"i the faithful who had alread) made thi pilgrimage to the kaaba ol the
Prophet. Several more santons figured in this long procession, all horribly
ugly; this singular profession ol traveling santon is transmitted from father
to son. One c.i them was the objecl ol special ovations, and one ol oui
donkey-drivers, \cr\ well posted in regard to the fete, being questioned,
explained to us thai this unfortunate had already made the journey to Mecca
seven times and in the same costume! By the odor we might have divined
the seven times concentrated sanctity of this lump ol lard! But we dogs
dt Christians were nol connoisseurs' Our donkey-boj begged permission to go
and venerate this monstrosit} , more supple than a serpent, he slipped through
the crowd and between the legs ol the soldiers, and, hanging on like a mussel
i" the call "i this boh personage, he gave himsell an indigestion of humid
piety. Km everything passes, even ;i caravan; the feti was al an end, and
turned thoroughly astonished by these strange scenes, and still wonder-
ing al the marvels ol decoration and mise-en-scene, but profoundly commiser-
ating the actors; the chiel characters had played too well their rdles in this
apotheosis of brutishness! ....
"But we must be thinking of Sinai, ol Moses, ol the manna ol the Hebrews,
and go tn expiate all our mundane pleasures in the privations, the sand, the
fasting, the fleas, and the famine thai awail us in the desert. 'Be serious!
says our little band to itself, feeling all the gravity of this second expedition;
real dromedaries and .1 real desert, withoul the slightest vestige ol .1 'Restau-
rant Peters,' this was the prospect which lay before us and winch some ol
us considered with no little apprehension. The railroad had brought us across
inds ti> the dull and dirty little city "I Suez. ( )ur tents and superb drome-
daries were to arrive only the next day; for the time being we had no other
resource bul the H6tel Anglais, already flooded with travelers bound for Indo-
China and Japan. Our unhappy fate made our arrival coincide with a near
departure and the hotel was full. ' Complet,' ironically cried from an upper
stun a gargon redder than the sea baptized bj this name. We were deter-
imii id, however, not to sleep out of doors nor in the city ; we entered into
negotiations and our dragoman obtained the favor ol having beds made up
on the divans in the salon. Hut when we came in to claim our half-beds,
a dozen Englishmen were snoring there in chorus. Their ungracious n
to disturb themselves lor our benefit engendered all manner of designs in the
heads of our band, which exerted itself all nighl Ion-' in the most outlainli h
inventions. Idle boots, ranged in battle arra] mi the table of the salon, pro-
/.//•/■ WD II ORtCS Of ) 167
jected fantastic shadows into the corners, and some of us could nol resist the
temptation of sketching them; as ii hv enchantment, umbrellas were spread,
color-boxes opened, and, in the scantiesl oi apparel, the merits "I painting by
gaslight were debated! Having some visits to make the next day, we had
stipulated for some brushing and blacking. Hut as we possessed in th<
van a charming melange oi yellow boots, leggings, and black boots, which did
ii"! call for the same kind oi treatment, we had arranged that all the I ts
which needed to be blacked should be placed at daybreak outside the dooi ot
the salon. A diabolical idea occurred to on< oi us and was put in execution.
Like the lance oi Saul, a single velloiu boot was abstracted from each of the
selfish sleepers and traitorously mixed in with ours; bakchich was forthcom-
ing, and the blacking was not spared' When thej returned, shining and
polished, each was placed silently ai its posi and we stole awav. picturing lo
ourselves the scene that would follow the awakening! ....
I'lu desert which separates Cairo from Sue/ has a very peculiar aspect,
owing to tlte incredible mobility of the sand. This white, impalpable dust
undergoes the strangest transformations, following the slightest caprices of the
wind. Elevating itself sometimes into mountains of great height, sometimes into
a seril tes, tile same sand presents the next day the appearance ol .111
immense level plain. The crossing is verj painful lor travelers and even for
the dromedaries, who. plunging in to their knees, can only move at a very slow
To-da\ the railroad simplifies this lust stage of the journey out oi Egypt,
hut if commerce and busy travelers gain time, the real amateurs of the Orient
lose one of the most interesting points of the desert. The sands, of a brilliant
whiteness, partake in an extraordinary degree oi the various colorings ol the sky
at different hours oi the day. In the morning they are rosy, with violet shadows ;
in the afternoon the direct sunlight :^iv es them hack their whiteness, softened hv
gray and golden tones ol the most brilliant effect. In the evening, during the
sh.il period of the twilight, they reflect like metallic plaques the incandescent
tones ol the setting sun; they are not then mountains of snow, hut of lire;
perpetually agitated, the sand is always subject to a change of place v 'isible to the
md occurring with frightful rapidity. On the crest of these moun-
ihe slightest breath oi wind produces an effect like the melting oi snow ;
the sand sinks awav, always with imperceptible clouds on its surface, whose
substance is treacherous and impalpable. How many caravans have been and
will he its victims' Hut to return to Suez,
"To stroll through the bazaar and the city, and complete our laying-in ot
supplies for the journey, occupied the day till the arrival "I our caravan and our
1. ni-,. Our encampment, with its military guard, was established t<> the north-
a ih. city, where we were protected from its miasma, and. above all. from
its inhabitants. Sue/, at this time was ol a repulsive uncleanliness. and no
i, ,J monument makes up for this carelessness, The simple house occupied
by General Bonaparte offers the sole pilgrimage to make. The tide was high
and the holy pall laieli huv 111- forgotten to leave us his rod. it was m a charming
little pleasure boat belonging to the Compagnie du Canal that we crossed the
[68 LIFE i\l< WORKS Of II l\ I fox GEl
Red Sea, with dry feet, a1 the very ^-i >■ >i where Pharaoh's artillery had been
entirely submerged! Our caravan had made the grand tour in the morning.
We passed through the sheds oi .1 section oi the work on the Isthmus, where the
work men, a majority ol them Frenchmen, gave us the mosl cordial welcome;
they offered us a ravishing little Syrian dog, and being assured that ii would
follow us in the desert, we pul it in a leash and confided it to one of th
vants IK iv it was that we made al last the acquaintance of our superb mounts.
The Viceroy had graciously offered them to Ger6me for our journey; we could
ippreciate the value oi these incomparably trained dromedaries, to whom
we owed the rapidity of our journeying and our consequenl ability to spend a
longer time al each encampment. In pi these magnificent animals and
their guardians, it was not without a slight feeling of fear that the novices
measured the height oi their new situation The largest of the animals
measured ■, meters 25 centimeters to the saddle-bow, and was assigned to Lenoir.
he hem- tin youngest ol the party, The camels had all been made to kneel
down: the moment we wi I on the saddle, the animal instantly rose up
with an excess oi politeness we would gladlj have dispensed with, tor In
m this operation produced the most frightful swaying imaginable on account of
the inequality oi length which exists between the hind and tore legs of this
beast. Hut the uneasiness experienced, when riding a camel, lias been greatly
exaggerated, and the resistance which one makes i" the natural movement oi
the saddle is the sole cause oi the disagreeable effects sometimes occurring on
these shi|>s ol the desert. It is nol a rolling, properly so-called, hut a very
regular and verj supportable pitching. Habit soon made us regard this new
mode of locomotion as the most natural m the world, and we ended by displays
of the /null, icoh which excited the admiration oi our escort.
"Our lust halting-place was not far away, and we soon reached Ain-Mouca.
the springs oi Moses, We entered the desert by dunes oi extremely line white
sand, which greatly diminished the fatigue consequent on our first siance on a
movable hump; we left behind us Sue/., which soon disappeared behind the
steep Hanks oi the Djebel-Attaka ; this mountain in red tones dominates the
route and melts away m the distance on the southern side oi the sea that reflects
us warm tints. The absolute absence of decent drinking-water at Suez gives a
importance to five springs which we found at tin- camping-ground. The
nature ol the soil and the presence oi this water have favored vegetation there ;
graceful palms and clusters oi trees sheltered the springs; two natives had made
little gardens there and constituted the entire population oi this refreshing little
quarter. It was there we passed our first night in the desert, the very thought
id which was lull of charm."
Apropos of tin- first encampment, we find in the dedication of "Le
Fellah," a charming volume by Edmond About, the following just tribute to that
fidelity to nature which is one oi ihe mo>t striking qualities in Gerfime's work:
■■ My Dear Friend '; Do you remember our last meeting in Egypt? It was
under your tent at the extreme end of the desert ol Suez, in sighl of the caravan
THE END OF THE SEANCE
/.//■/ \ND !V( >A'/es OF Ji ,•< Ml
which was carrying the carpel to Mecca. You were starting for Sinai : I was
preparing to return to Alexandria with a portfolio crammed with notes, as was
yours with sketches. I knew- Egypt well enough to describe ii from top to
bottom, as I have done the Greece oi King Otho and the Rome oi Pius IX.
Bui the hospitality "I Ismail Pasha had swathed me in bands which paralyzed
mj movements nol a little. I had no longer a right to publish ex pro/esso
a contemporaneous Egypt. Your example, my dear G6r6me, lias at once
fascinated and reassured me. No law forbids an author lo work en peintre ;
that is In say, to assemble in a work
ol imagination a multitude id details
taken from nature and scrupulously
true, though selected. Your master-
pieo s, greal and small, do not affect
to tell e\ erything ; hut they do not
present a t \ pe, a t ree, t be fold oi a
garment, which you have nol seen. I
have followed the same method, in
the measure oi my ability, which,
unhappily, is far from equaling yours.
and it is only in virtue id' this fact that
' l.e Fellah' is worthy to he dedicated
lo you."
To return to the journal :
" Tethered l>\ a a ird, like horses
in the country, our dromedaries and
baggage-camels formed one oi the most
interesting parts of our encampment.
was very instructive for us. who were to live for two months on their hacks.
And here let US correct an error that is sometimes made, in regarding the
camel and tlu- dromedary as animals of a different race; they are identically
the same, with the sole distinction that one is a beast of burden, and the
other is exclusively trained lor riding. The dromedary is trained like the
English horse, and the camel is only used tor transportation of heavy weights.
There is no more differenci "I race between them than between the blooded
and a cab-hack. Our camp, all during the journey, was composed ol
threi large tents and two small ones. One ot the former served as a general
dormitory lor our little band, the second was our dining-room, and the third
barely contained our kitchen apparatus. 'I'hc two little tents formed I he
apartments reserved lor the serious men. who were nol in the habit id passing
their nights singing and dancing in a ring around the table: over the one
assigned to G6r6me Boated an Admiral's flag, tor were we not navigating
the desert? The tenants of these smaller tents generally took good care to
avoid a too great proximity to the undisciplined and noisy fold, but when
the seances de desert became too monotonous, momentary fusions and recon-
The distribution of their daily food
17° III I IM> WORKS (>/■ // i.\ LiOA G&ROMl
ciliations occurred; the serious men solicited the favor of penetrating into the
den and were made to pay dearly for the privilege. To a spectator placed on
the top "i a mountain, our caravan on the march must have presented a very
table ensemble, for our effective force consisted of twenty-seven camels
and dromedaries. Our ten choice mounts belonged to the stables of the Viceroy ;
tour won- especially detailed to carry the water, three earned the tents and the
camping apparatus, seven others were loaded with chopped straw and beans for
the food oi theit brethren, for it is a mistake to extend the moderation ot .1
camel to his food ; he can remain fot a week without drinking, but he musl have
a daily meal, however slender, his conformation permitting him to carry only a
supph oi wati
" i )ne of these interesting animals must have been astonished, and with good
al the solicitude of which he was the subject, and the ass carrying relies
had less pretext fot being excited; this camel earned more than Caesar and his
fortune, for he had on his back our only photographic apparatus, plus the two
chests of bottles and glasses which make its greatest charm; we lavished the
greatesl care on him in all the descents and difficult passages; hi> load, much
smaller than that ot the others, must have misled his judgment as to the nature of
our hind attentions. How many statesmen fall into the same error in attributing
to themselves the merit of the lamp-glasses they are carrying! ' Don't smash the
globe,' is the basis of the enthusiasm ol most of their electors ! In these desert
countries the affections become displaced and concentrate themselves with
intensity on objects to which one would not before have dreamed oi attaching
any great importance. A second camel held a place in our hearts almost as
■ I u as the one carrying the camera ; it was he on whose hump our pot-au-feu
made itsell eaeh day in a marvelous Swedish pot, by the side ol which Aladdin's
lamp was insignificant ' A chest of wood, thoroughly incased in wool and her-
metii all) sealed, contains a simple pot, which it holds like a jewel in its case. In
this pot you place all the ingredients ol the pot-au-feu, together with \X& quantum
ot boiling water (easily obtainable an hour before departure); the box being
closed with care, ebullition is maintained indefinitely until the water is entireh
evaporated, if the matter is prolonged beyond the time necessary foi a reasonable
cooking. In a carriage or on the hack of a horse, an ass, or a camel, the pot-
au-feu thus prepares itsell. and when, having started in the morning, you
arrive worn out with hunger and fatigue, an exquisite and burning hot soup
is read) foi you. This simple physical phenomenon was attributed by the
Arabs to sorcery on our part, and the marvelous pot caused them as much
terror as admiration. Every time our camel-drivers passed before the camel
which carried i he soup, they made a grand detour, and crossed themselves
Mi i their fashion. Our cook alone, greal amateur ol his art. had mastered his
religious scruples, and he confessed to us that he should renounce the paradise
Of Mohammed it he did not find there a Swedish mar mite !
"Our dragoman, ot Syrian origin, was very intelligent, endowed like all
Arabs with an infinite power ol brag; the labors ot Hercules were only a joke
in comparison to the feats he had performed, the relation of which was accom-
///■/■ l\/> WORKS 0/ Jl g£r6mi 171
panied by vigorous gestures and demonstrations. Our two other servants were
Egyptians, much more reserved and respectful than the dragoman; they were
also \ii\ gentle and very intelligent, and were preparing themselves, they
avowed to us, to be in their turn conductors-in-chiel of a caravan. One oi
them, bom in Upper Eg} pt, was named Ibrahim ; his tine, beardless face, graceful
gestures, and long blue robe gave him the appearam e ol a timid young girl ; we
called him Miss Ibrahim. He and his associate Michel were of an exemplary
tidiness, a rare qualit} among thi Vrabs, and which offered a strong con-
trast to the carelessness oi the dragoman and the remainder oi his acolyte
Another type among our servitors did nol lack in interest ; it was the kitchen
b iy, a little African negro, whose name we did not knovt and who was so black
that we naturally called him Snowball' Always laughing, his white teeth
produced the effeel ol a gaslight illumination at the mouth oi a cave. I lis eter-
nally gay nature contrasted with the dramatic side of his functions; he was
acrificial High Priesl ; it was he who slaughtered the fowls ami the
sheep, hut it was he also who eared lor and fed them. Therefore the fowls
had conceived a greal affection for him and followed him everywhere. < >n the
march, if Snowball passed mar the camels carrying the cages ol poultry, there
1 tumult of joyful duckings to which he replied by opening still wider
his mouth, which he had never been able to shut since he was born. Idle horn
ot slaughter was the same as that oi the feeding, and the hens hustled each
other in their haste to meet him. The kilchen-knile in one hand and the sack
ot wheat in the other, nothing was more Striking than this high executioner,
distributing lite and death at his own capricious pleasure to those who loved
him most. There was a picture to make; Sophocles would have written a
tragedy. '/'<///>. ta'ib k&tir,' were the only words we ever heard escape from
this great laughing mouth, adorned with two thick lips that had never been
able to meet. Our cook. Achmet, was tall and thin, mute as the Sphinx, and
like him had lost Ins nose I The charming side ol his character was displayed
in his excellenl cooking, which never harms anything, even en voyage.
"The first part of the desert presented a desolate aridity; not the slightest
ation brightened the drab and graj tones ol the sand over which we made
our way toward the mountains. In its general configuration, the Sinaitic
peninsula forms the most singular collection of mountain-chains almost parallel
to each other, and which merge together at the e\treinil\ of the peninsula.
Between these gigantic walls, which nature has so singularly ranged, are the
natural beds oi torrents resulting from rains and melting snows, ddiese narrow
valleys, which are absolute corridors, the Arabs call wadis. The word valley
does not correctly give the meaning oi the Arab word, so narrow is the passage
one is obliged to follow sometimes for several kilometers. The lighl only struck
the horizontal planes of the jagged Banks of the mountains, and these ravines
Wi n like caves which are only lighted by a prolonged air-hole. The sonority <>1
these wadis is extraordinary, redoubled as it is by the absolute silence ol nature,
and the Btrangi ~i e< hoes permitted us to mak with little effort as much not
a whole regiment <>n the march. During two days over sand and pebbles, we
'7-' LIFE AND WORKS <>/ /A./.V LEON GEROMh
perceived continuall) these magnificent chains, to the heart oi which we were
going to penetrate ; they seemed to fly before us as in a mirage, and it was with
real joy that, by a fracture which seemed to split the mountain in two, we
inaugurated this astonishing series oi passages. The Wadi-Reiyaneh was the
first which opened to receive us; it was noon; the shelter-tent, which never left
us. was pitched and we proceeded to breakfast, experiencing the satisfaction ot
being losl to the world. The road appeared to us to be sufficiently easy to find to
loose our prett} little dog, who followed usver) well. But alas' she was not to
be with us long. The wadi, till now very much closed in, suddenly changed its
character; the manner in which the two sides "I the mountain shot up, cut at
righl angles like two walls, ami the regular buttresses which held them up, com-
pleted l lie illusion that possessed us. that these were the COnstrW lions of men and
not treaks ot nature. At the end ot this immense gallery we again struck the
sand, winch was dotted here and there by tufts oi foliage almost ot a pearl-gray
lone, like hits ot wool stirred by the wind. Our dromedaries did not neglect to
taste, as they went along, this unexpected luncheon, and we weri soon vying
with each other as to who should find a bunch for his heast and assure him the
exclusive consumption of it. A little farther on, these tufts took on larger
proportions, and from their branches and roots were borrowed whips, which we
l.uked. to stimulate the good will ol our coursers.
"On leaving this narrow gorge we reached the shore ot the Red Sea. and
followed it lor some time. Al this point the mountains begin to take on the
red. green, and black tones which puzzle the besl trained eye that may wish to
determine the cause ot this coloring. Under the action ot tire only could the
earth and rocks undergo such strange upheavals and decomposition ; orange and
lemon-yellow veins slash from top to bottom the reddish sides of these natural
walls, and from alar imitate the caprices ot the most extraordinary marbles.
< )ur admiration for this si range spectacle was diverted by the sight ot the sea and
the prospect for a long-hoped-foi bath. Vnd indeed we had scarcely quitted the
\\ adi-Sadr. when our dromedaries with one accord slatted oft at their most rapid
pace and rushed into the water up to their breasts. The \lv<\ Sea. so terrible in
history, was at this spot, as indeed in its whole length, as limpid as rock-crystal.
Mohammed ought to have heeii satisfied with our ablutions, for We remained m
the water till nightfall, and we would have r( joiced to he able to pitch our tents
there. Adorable little shells, of every imaginable coloi and form, strewn over
the sand, were the only drawback to out enjoyment. The sensitive teet ot our
dromedaries suffered equally from this excess of riches. Amphitrite had left at
this spot a lavish supply of those enormous red shells which traditionally figure
on the mantelpieces of our concierges, and we perpetrated the poor joke ot
bringing to our absent friends a cargo oi the largest, heaviest, and ugliest we
could find ' We had just scrambled into bed after our lengthy hath when in a
moment the weather changed. The most piercing cold succeeded the burning
winds that had blown fiercely all day ; a terrible tempest, with thunder and
lightning, hurst upon us. Suddenly a formidable blast of wind blew away the
entire tent which composed the large dormitory, together with all its accessories '
LIFE IND WORKS <>/■ // m i/i>\ G&RdMl 175
Ii was not a slight affair to catch it. The stafi in the middle was broken, the
slakes were simultaneously pulled oul from the earth, and the enormous
parachute, rising from the earth, sailed away in the direction of the wadi, and
we presented the edifying spectacle ol tenants running alter their house' The
hurricane lasted all nighl and considerably interfered with our departure the
iu \1 da) several accessories of our camp had heen lost in the tumult of the
previous evening, and the drenched soil bad become very slipperj and dangerous
foi our animals. A day ol hall was voted and decreed then and there, we
profited by this delaj to take another hath and make various studies "I these
Strange mountains, whose lurid tones seemed to he more vivid alter the lain
(Oicrome's sketch-hook wonderfully reproduces all these marvels.)
"Our tents, spread out on the shore, were drying in the sun, when our Arabs
signaled on the horizon the approach of two human beings; some of our men
went to meet them and brought them to the camp. Two skeletons, almost
naked, were before us, and with staring eyes made signs that they were dying
ot hunger. These unhappy beings were two fishermen whose boat had 1" en
wrecked by a storm some time before. For two days they had lived on raw
fish, hut lor the lasl lour they had had nothing to ea1 ; their appearance was
frightful. We came like a providence to them. Our Colonel ami the Doctot
vied with each other in lavishing care on them, and gave them nourishment.
which gradually restored them; then, as we were on the point of departure
and these two unfortunates were to return to Suez, we gave to each three
loaves of bread, a bottle ol wine and two ot brandy, which had to last them
for quite a lone, journey, hut which was all we could spare from our provi-
sions. No words could describe the thankfulness ol those men, whom we thus
saved from a certain death, and none ot us will ever forget the tears ot grati-
tude they shed on leaving us. Our way lay in an opposite direction; the sea
wa-, superb and the line sand, spangled with brilliant shells, was the natural
road we followed. The mountains on our letl rose up in gigantic stories piled
one upon the other. The natural decomposition of the stone produced fairy-
like carvings, ami the action of the rains had formed staircases ol most aston-
ishing regularity. We seemed to l>e ascending the steps ol Indian temples,
multiplying themselves before us as if by enchantment. It was in successively
mounting and descending this labyrinth of steps that we had the misfortune
to lose our dog Nina. A dromedary hail hit her with his foot ; this unexpected
kick hail frightened her so that she ran away, and the efforts ol all OUI camel-
ili iv ers were in vain to recall her. In those arid solitudes, SO far from Suez, the
poor beast must have dud oi hunger or become the prey ol some troop ol jackals.
I here was general mourning in the caravan, ami this accident quite spoiled lor
us the magnificent spectacle which unceasingly unrolled before our eves. As we
advanced, the mountains became more lofty ami of more vivid coloring than
those vv e had seen the day previous. We were obliged to leave the coast and
penetrate one of those frightful gorges whose existence could only he dis-
covered by the trained eve ol an Arab, so nearly do the sides of the mountains
touch.
/.//•/ AND WORKS Ol Jl i.\ LEOA GER&ME.
"The Wadi-el-Amarab offered us the firsl opportunity of tasting those
springs ol bitter water which gush oul so abundantly in these mountainous
countries. The bitter fountain ol Marafa oi the Hebrews is supposed to refer
to these springs. Lepsius was not of this opinion, hut the water was none the
less undrinkable ! Deceived bj its crystal clearness, our animals plunged their
heads into it and withdrew them with horrible grimaces. Similar to that
ol the Dead Sea, il tasted like an infusion of sulphur matches. We only wet
our bands and laces, and our skin was covered with blisters and impregnated
with salts, the removal oi which gave us no little trouble. It was the 25th
ol February; Mardi-Gras was being celebrated with masked halls at Paris,
which we were unable to duplicate. Mni the most picturesque coiffures were
donned by the whole colony and a little bac Was set up in our tent, which was
adorned with our best vintages. Jules was invited to the fete, and our Sinaitic
watch excelled in gayet} the most successful efforts of our distant country.
Firstly, no one had anything to pay; secondly, in the middle of the night the
little band indulged in a torchlight procession which filled our domestics with
anxiety as to our mental condition. Patriotic songs alternated with
d'atelier' in the best possible taste, and must have astonished the echoes ol
these biblical wadis, which probably had heard nothing <>! the kind lor a long
time' The fanOUS were at last extinguished and the desert resumed its
wonted silence. The Wadi-Sclnlla was the point on our journey where the
mountains surpassed in strange coloring all that one could imagine in violent
and outlandish tints ; entirely vermilion, red or ocher yellow, they seemed
i" bi painted ; on then jagged sides various geological strata, green, blue, anil
violet, formed arabesques impossible to describe. Wishing tohavea clear con-
science, some of us made the ascension of the reddest peak to see it it was really
■ lor. or il these extravagant tints were not the result oi some optical illu-
sion. Hut it was not poudre de riz ! this rouge was perfectly natural and.
from top to bottom, each fragment of these sharp rocks looked like a burning
coal. We brought back some specimens which aroused the admiration ol the
ists, and we remained several days in this fantastic spot making differ-
ent studies of these freaks ol nature, where not a single blade oi :^rass varied
the extraordinary coloration.
" Wadi-Mokatteb. la ValUe Ecrite, was the marvelous valley which we were
now to cross. At a height ot two hundred meters, the sides of the mountain,
polished like tables of marble expressly prepared, are covered with Sinaitic
inscriptions . lor more than three kilometers these remarkable si.^ns literallx
carpel the slopes that streUb up perpendicular^ on each side, like two enormous
pages of hieroglyphics, the origin of which has been the subject ot many dis-
putes. The red-brick lone of the mountains that bear these inscriptions gives
a still more striking charactei to this strange page ol bistorj written on the face
Oi Nature. This valley ends in a vast circular plain surrounded by mountains
on ever} side. The encampment was enlivened by a visit from the brother ot
our sheikh. He was not alone, for when he entered our tent-salon, he had on
his arm an enormous sheep which he cam. to offer us. provided ot course that
LIFE AND II OSKS <>/■ / 17;
we would pay him roundly for it ' This courtesy on his part cosl us twenty -five
frani s, a fabulous pi ice for tins country. Bui we could not refuse, lesl we should
\i-\ this gentleman and a crowd ol others who could have made matters \.r\
1 reeable for us; after all he was very amiable, and invited us to dine with
him, to visit Ins little familj . Ins little tents, and his little Hocks. With graceful
gestures and feminine intonations, he explained how charming it all was; we
allowed ourselves to be tempted, and some of us actually put on gloves to go to
this dinner 'in the city!' The singular repast which awaited us was worth the
trouble; pilau, couscoussou, mincemeal with bread balls, curdled milk, nothing
thai could produce seasickness was lacking! A sheep had been prepared d
I'arabe. I 'hi entire animal, placed on the embers like a simple chestnut, was
taken oil thoroughly burned on the outside and perfectly raw inside. To com-
plicate the roast, the interior had 111 the first place been slutted with fruits and
odoriferous herbs, which gave it a very pronounced taste oi the apothecary shop.
We had tlu di licac] to find everything excellent, risking an illness oi several
days; Heaven came to our aid. for we were surrounded by tin- dogs of the
tribe, who assisted us to do honor to the repast. After this indigestion par
politesse, we left this plateau and plunged again into narrow gorges ; the soil and
the sides of the mountain were of a white and powdery sandstone, which crossed
the red tones that still prevailed. A tine sand covered the road and made the
walking difficult for our dromedaries, Here the irregularities of the ground did
not take the form of crevasses and landslides, as they had hitherto. Swollen
like lava in fusion, the slabs oi polished granite over which we were moving occa-
sioned our pooi annuals more than one fall, inexperienced as they were in this
painful kind of ascension. We had all dismounted and. holding them by the
bridles, we often clung to them under pretext of assisting them.
"After this narrow defile we found ourselves suddenly at the entrance ol a
magnificent valley, which reached to the steep sides of the highest mountain we
had \et seen. The sharp stones w Inch formed the macadam of the road spoiled
the charm for us, and the bleeding of our poor dromedaries testified that they
were id our opinion in regard to the ne^li^ence of the road-menders. We had.
however, before us one of the most beautiful points of view in the desert.
Mount Serbal dominated all the surrounding mountains; the valley, gradually
sloping, came out on thi sea above Thor; the steep declivities, with their man]
fissures and rounded rocks, plainly indicated the extraordinary violence of the
water at the time when the rains make a furious torrent of this valley. We
entered the mountains by a crevasse, resigning ourselves beforehand to anothi i
when the nature of the soil suddenly changed. Bushes and
shrubs, with silvery leaves and graceful outlines, soon gave place to trees, and
sprouts of palms seemed to push aside the rocks to make room for their lovely
foliage. 'Tins oasis is the onlj fertile wadi oi tin- peninsula of Sinai. Wadi-
Faran, which introduced itseli so charmingly, became still more agreeable, as
in penetrating farther we found ourselves in a forest oi magnificenl palms,
through which ran a ravishing brook. The village, composed of earth huts.
oncealed by the trees, whose branches touched the ground, starting from
17 s I'll l\l> WORKS Of II M /i,'\ G&RdMl
the highest pari ol the trunk. These new specimens of palms were most
striking. The houses, low and level with the ground, were sometimes dug out
below the level ol the road ; for in this gorge the mosi intense cold succeeds the
suffocating heal from which we were suffering at thai moment. The less
;erated color ol the mountains rendered more natural, so to speak, the
background oi this magnificent picture. As yet we had met nothing as
picturesque; instinctively we hastened to see who could make the first sketch
of this lovely country, where, by unanimous vote, we stayed for several busy
days. (G6r6me's portfolio ol sketches hears witness to his rapid and \ aried work
at this picl uresque spot. >
'Alter having visited some Egyptian rums which are still visible in the
neighborhood, we started on the last march that was to bring its to Sinai.
Wadi-Solaf, the 'Gorge ol the Wind.' was the last through which we were
to |i.hs, hut it was one oi the most difficult. The path indicated by the
crevasse forced us to dismount, and our dromedaries suffered from a series
oi adventures before finishing this gutter promenade. Hut on reaching the
mouth of the wadi, we were repaid foi ill 0U1 bruises b) the spectacle that
lay before us. In trout. Sinai itsell towered up into space, its imposing
silhouette vigorously outlined on the mountains around it. Djehel-Catlunne.
which precedes and even overtops it, astounded US bv it> colossal proportion-.;
some savants, on the lookout tor novelties ami historic contradictions, asserl
that this is the true Sinai of Scripture. On the right, at an extraordinary
height, we perceived some white constructions, nuns . . i a palace which Abbas
Pasha, io gratify a caprice, caused to he buill in these inaccessible regions.
Alter having scaled some very steep slopes we crossed a field of tall grasses
of a pale yellow, which seemed by their nature, at once flexible and solid.
Io he a kind of rush. It was a real least for our annuals, hut we were in haste
to finish our journey and plied our whips energeticall) to subdue these
stomachic caprices. Rounding I >jebel-Catherine we found ourselves suddenly
in the valley which extends to the foot of lloreh and Sinai. Like a little
fortress, the convent appeared hanging on the steep sides oi the mountain.
and the flowering trees in its garden produced the gayest and most novel
effeel in this country so arid and so lull of terrible souvenirs. Our camp was
pitched in sight of the convent, and without delay we made a hit ol toilette
and went to pay our formal visit to its hospitable tenants.
Idle convent of Sinai is the most singular assemblage of constructions
thai one can find. Extending from the Byzantine period to the lime ol the
most modem \rahic art. every sort of architect lire is here mingled at pleas-
ure. Colossal walls, flanked by towers and buttresses, lmvc to the convent
the appearance of a greal fortress, quadrangular in its ensemble; while,
conforming to the slope oi the mountain which forms its foundation, it
appears to have wished to make the ascent ami to have remained suspended
a pace like an eagle's nest. It is a little city, a castle ami stronghold which
has SU8tained more than one attack and siege on the pari ol the Arab tribes
who covet its treasures. It had thoroughly the appearance ol those castles
1 1 1 h \ND WORKS OF / / L\ if.OX >,//■' [79
01 the Middle Ages, where entire existences were passed in silence, and where
the inhabitants only sallied out to make war. To judge by the heighl of the
towers and their buttresses, they must have been but rarely scaled, and we began
to wonder what could have been the drawbridge and the entrance to this impreg-
nable fortress. It was by means of a kind ,.i basket hoisted bv a pulley that the
monks communicated with the Outside world ; the chain which served to mount
the loads and passengers was moved by a windlass, to which the monks har-
nessed themselves in order to pull up their supply ol wood, that is to say.
what the Arabs brought in exchange for some donation. On a fixed day
a distribution took place, oi bread and wine, to all the poor ol the neighboring
tribes; we were present at this curious ceremony where the bread fell literally
from heaven. We liad counted on performing this little aSrial voyage our-
selves, and penetrating into the convent by this singular opening, but w<
arrived too late. The mania tor improvements had reached as tar as Sinai,
and the good monks had indulged themselves to the extent of having a real
dooi with knockers of the most modern and hateful style. This new entrance,
which we perhaps inaugurated, wasn't worth as much to us as the basket
The sacks of Hour and rice had the sole right to pas-, through this artistic
entrance, which, as painters, we would gladly have shared, but the rule of
the convent forbade the gratification of this caprice.
"To begin at the beginning, we went to pay our respects to the Superioi
he was in the library: a monk, with a line but rather sickly lace, received us
and preceded us into the reception-room. To get there, we were obliged to
climb up several inclined planes, mount several flights of steps, and pass suc-
cessively through obscure and winding galleries, to find ourselves on a level with
a second series ot constructions, which seemed like a second city built over tin
first A vast court, adorned with three cypress trees, formed the center ol this
second nest of buildings ; there we wound around again and finally climbed up
a wooden staircase, an enormous ladder, as worm-eaten as it was slippery, .at the
top of which we found ourselves on the principal balcony overlooking the in-
terior court. There, by a little door, our amiable guide showed us into a low -
ceilinged apartment with two windows one looking out on the court, the other
on the garden. While waiting for the Superior, we were able to make a
conscientious inspection of this strange chamber, where religious emblems.
ChristS, portraits of popes, holy pictures, Greek inscriptions, and the most naive
ex-votos were singularly mixed up with trifles, pipes with zouave heads, and
pouches, as little biblical as our own. Wax matches from Marseilles
excited our admiration, especiall} the photographs of the actrices ilu boulevard
w huh adorned the colored boxes holding the aforementioned matches. To find
Hortense Schneider and ThSrese in the convent id Sinai was startling! We
11, , h able 10 contain ourselves when the Superior passed the matches
around, but we did not dare to ask it they were family portraits. 111 view of the
s, uiiv nature of the ('.reek costumes. On his return from the library the presen-
tation took place; our reception was made with most charming gestures, lor
the dragoman bore all the burden of our eloquence and we had only to approve
l8o /.///■ I.Y/i WORKS Of II IX LiON G&ROME.
l.\ a slight smile, which, however, permitted us to better observe our hosts. The
Superior must have passed his sixtieth year; his strongly marked features were
marvelousl] framed in by hair oi a remarkable whiteness; a long fine beard
reached to his bell and fell like snow on the thick folds of a black robe which
covered him from head to foot. Like the priests ol the Greek church, lie wore
on his head a kind oi black felt miter ; a long veil, fastened on the top. and
thrown back, protected the neck and shoulders from the rays of the sun.
■The Superior presented to us the other monks oi the convent, the mosl
important of whom had rejoined him in the reception salon. A repetition oi the
dialogue l>v gestures and a repetition of Bmiles! G6r6me afterward took the
portraits of these hospitable brethren. Aged, for the most part, their faces
expressed the greatest gentleness; their severe costume gave them the appear-
ance (d those ancient Byzantine patriarchs whose facsimiles adorned the walls ,
all their implements oi prayer consisted oi an enormous string of beads and a
hook ot psalms written in Greek and Arabic. The mission oi these good monks
is not simply to receive strangers and pilgrims, but to devote themselves to the
profound study of the rare works and incomparable manuscripts which fill the
library of the convent. This marvelous library is usually only accessible to
monks; but our quality oi artist-painters, and. above all. the magnificent pro-
portions oi our official dromedaries, smoothed away all difficulties; the Superior
himself conducted us thither and dusted oil the most curious parchments and
papyri. A Lite of the Saints, exquisitely decorated with paintings and por-
traits, particularly excited our admiration by the purity ol design and brilliant
coloring. These manuscripts alone are worth the whole journey, and we
obtained permission to make prolonged studies among these chefs-d'oeuvre.
They showed us also the lour Gospels entirely written, it appears, by the hand
ol the Emperor Theodosius. The bindings are as remarkable in their way by
the richness and taste which are displayed . some ol them, in carved wood, are
loaded with ornaments m silver and gold, of most exquisite workmanship. Out-
side ol the principal church, the convent is divided into an infinite number oi
small chapels, each oi which is under the invocation of a special saint. Con-
nected by corridors, they also communicate with the cells of the Fathers m such
a way that each one has. so to Speak, his own particular little oratory. 'Idle
principal church ilsell presents the same aspect of a basilica divided into distinct
chapels, the rood-lofi of which is separated from the rest oi the nave by a wall
and richly ornamented wainscoting. A colossal figure oi Christ dominates the
choir, surrounded by images painted on a background ol gold in the style ol
Russian decorations. Lamps in copper and silver, of graceful tonus, descend
from the vault and are doubtless very tempting to pilgrims who are amateurs,
lor visitor-, are QOt allowed to stay loo long within reach of these precious
objets d'art.
■■It would be difficult to name precisely the style of architecture which pre-
dominates in this construction. Arched vaults, and heavy, widening capitals on
short columns like those of Si. Sophia, are distinctive points in this church, as
Byzantine as it i> Roman, where the most modern restorations are seen close
LIFE AND WORKS <>/■ // l\ //u>\ GER&MI 183
to the debris ol most primitive and incongruous ornamentation. The mosaics
come, it is said, from Si. Sophia, which is very possible considering its very
damaged state. Suddenly the monks who accompanied us assumed a very
solemn air ami informed us thai we were about to be admitted to the sanctuary
where God appeared to Moses. The altar of this little chapel is placed at the
precise spot where formerly appeared the burning hush ; a night-light reflected
by a gold plaque is the emblem ol this apparition, and it was with terrible
gestures that the monk drew hack the veil which conceals this little light from
the eyes .d the profane. This chapel is unquestionably the most curious and
richly adorned of all. Stained-glass windows harmoniously temper the glaring
light which would destroy the poetic charm of this sacred spot. Persian carpets
were under our feet, and. as at the mosques, we were obliged to take oil OUT
shoes .11 the entrance Moses himsell had given the example in obedience to
the command. ' Take off thy shoes from thy feet, for the place where thou standest
is holy ground.' Such is the biblical origin oi this custom, observed to-day by
all Mussulmans at the doors of all their mosques. In one oi the contiguous
chapels, placed, as well as the convent itself, under the protection id St.
Catherine, we saw two chests of wood which contained two coffins in silver ol
remarkable richness and workmanship. These work-, ol art. incrusted with
enamel, gold, and precious stones, were presented by the great Catherine ol
Russia, and one of them contains the remain-, ol the saint whose name was borne
by the empress. Another shrine contained gold ami precious stones by the
bushel, uotts and offerings oi illustrious pilgrims or important Russian person-
ages. We thought ot the good haul the Mandrins du Desert, those roving
robbers, could make here, were n noi I01 the vigilance ot the monks and the
formidable ramparts which protect their convent. And, indeed, several attempts
at assault by surprise have been made l>\ the Arabs, who are not ignorant o|
the immense riches accumulated here tor centuries. The door of the church is
curious as a work ol art ; formed ol panels of sculptured wood, it is a veritable
lacework framing in marvelous enamels, the effect ot which is heightened b)
iron work silvered over.
"In going out, the monks called our attention to the nuns ot a mosque, the
construction ol which in the interioi oi the convent had been exacted by Turk-
ish authority as a si^n ot recognized sovereignty. The Arabs never penetrating
to the spot, this fragment is useless ami in a state of absolute abandonment,
which the government tolerates, provided its little cupola is always surmounted
by the crescent of the Prophet, a pure question ol religious amour propre. The
monks came several times to return our visits and our camp did not lack anima-
tion ; the quantity ol information they gave us about the country was mm
useful to us during the journey which we were still obliged to make befon
reaching Akabah. These monks, thanks to their charity and erudition, are
greatl) esteemed by all the tribes of the peninsula, who sometimes come lo
consult them ami choose them as arbiters in their disputes.
"The valley ot Horeb and Sinai at this point enjoys par excellence that
grievous property oi mountainous countries great cold and stifling heat. We
[84
///•/• AND WORKS OF // I I ROME.
had already noticed hoarfrosl in the crevices of the rocks which the sun did nol
penetrate; to walk over snow with the thermometer at 88° had astonished us;
but what annoyed us the mosl was the intense cold of the nights.and the
mornings as long as the rays oi the sun were intercepted by the mountains. We
were no longer surprised at the pelisses lined with fur worn bj the monks, nor
at the stoves which adorned their cells. Our first night in camp was glacial;
our camel-drivers having been as-
sembled, we proceeded to build a
colossal lire. All the debris of the
valley, brushwood, roots, and bushes
were piled on ; the flames roared
up to an enormous height and
threw fantastic shadows on the
sides oi Sinai. The spectacle was
magnificent. If Moses had hap-
pened to l.e passing by, he would
certainly have taken oil his shoes
and prostrated himself ; hut he
would only have heard violent
recriminations against this Orient
« la glace, oi which travelers have
not spoken sufficiently, and against
which one is never sufficiently
fortified in these strange countries.
' Bard&nn, barddnn kitir,' ' I am
frozen'; such was the chorus that
issued from this burning bush.
The state of our poor dromedaries
was pitiable ; m their distress they
lay down one upon the other to
obtain by this means a little more
heat. In the morning we found our water frozen to a depth of twelve centi-
meters, and had to go to the convent to wash our faces.
• Mir sojourn at Sinai coincided with a joyous circumstance which caused
a momentary sally from that contemplative calm that we had vowed to preserve
to the end. It was the fete of our dear Doctor, and for six days the cook and
his aids conspired to organize a Sardanapalian feast which would destroy all
preconceived notions as to the privations and suffering oi the desert. It w
Hive the lie to history, and our Stomachs were to put a good face on the matter.
Two soups, four entrees, three roasts, a \.inct\ ol desserts, and above all mustard
(/ discretion/ It was a first-class wedding feast with bombe glacie a la manne.
At dessert on this memorable d.i\ as on all our great occasions, all the play-
things of the colony came out ol their boxes: a top. Jules, loto. and cards took
their turn. Our best wines were uncorked and served in glasses of all sizes; we
in nh i formidabh pool at icarti, w here no one paid, and again the most patriotic
LOVE, THE CONQUEKOB
1889
'ni que tu sot's, void ton maitre .'
II I 'est, If fat. on le doit etre .' "'
| Whoever thou art, beholJ thy ma
lie is, he was, or should be! I
LIFE AND WORKS Of // '• M ll.t<\ GEROML [85
songs out countr) had ever inspired awakened terrific echoes among the moun-
tains. The good monks had been invited and bad not disdained to take pari in
our little festivity. We smoked, drank, and sang a greal pari oi the night, and
onlj .1 little call oi gold was wanting! The most beautiful tam-tams of the
kitchen were brought into play, the tumuli was soon al its height, and it was
enough to break all the tables of the law. To expiate ibis life oi disorder and
darkness, the next dav was entirely devoted to the perilous ascension oi the
boh mountain, which promised a fatigue similar to thai we bad experienced at
the Pyramids. Here, without the vestige of an Arab to pull one up or lend a
helping hand, each one had to scale for himsell the angulai and slippery rocks.
" Sinai, composed essentially of granite, presents the appearance ol a moun-
tain bristling with teeth, its roughness and crevasses being due to the action oi
tire and violenl volcanic convulsions. The color oi the granite is red from the
top to the bottom, which increases the terribly imposing aspect ol the mountain,
rbe monks have endeavored to outline a kind oi staircase, but ibis Cyclopean
task bad to be performed every year, alter every fall oi snow and descent of the
torrents that brought down with them the stones which the fathers had used foi
tbis work. Alter climbing painfully Mount lloreb. which serves as a buttress to
Sinai, we commenced the more difficult ascension, where th< path was still less
indicated and where the pointed rocks to which we clung became more slippery
than ever. Our boots suffered sadly from ibis trip, ami we wondered bow the
bare feel oi the Prophel could havi traversed these razor blades. Half-waj up we
came to a little isolated platform, where there is the only cypress tree to be found
on the Whole mountain, which serves as a sort oi landmark for travelers in find
their way and to inform them bow much farther they have to go. We made our
lirst halt at tbis spot and sat down to take breath, Sinai has the deplorable
reputation of being peopled 1>\ serpents and enormous lizards. It was to the
intense cold we owed the real favor of not seeing a single one. We saw on the
w,i\ the plant thai produces the manna, which the monks gather with the
greatest care. The manna of Sinai bas the reputation ol being superior to ill
other, and the convent oi St. Catherine could have obtained more than one
medal it the Arabs bad ever thought oi holding the slightest exposition! But
they are above all such trifles. To be truly Hebraic, we tasted tbis singular food,
which enjoys, however, the peculiarity of having no taste at all ! Little by little,
a 1 arrived at a very satisfactory height, for we came into the region ol snow.
We longed to reach the end. It was not attained withoul difficulty, but the
spectacle which awaited us there repaid us effectually foi the fatigue ol the
ascent. The summit of Sinai forms a nr.iiU level plateau ; one oi the sides, in
tbe direction oi Ib.u, being perpendicular from top to bottom. From tbis plat-
form a wonderfully extended panorama spread OUl around us; tbe two arms ol
tbe Red Sea and of tbe (lull ol Akabab uniting al tbe extremity of tbe peninsula
witb tbe opposite banks of the two seas visible through a silvery fog vvbicb
bli tided witb tbe water; at our righl and our kit. the converging crests ol all
tbe Sinaitic chains oi tbe Peninsula, Mount Serbal and Djerbal-Catherine seeming
to overtop Sinai itself, although not presenting as imposing an appearance as tbe
[86
/.//■/•: AND WORKS (>/■ JEAN LEOA GER&MI
sacred mountain. An immense flagstone of natural formation is indicated as the
spot where God appeared to Moses and where the tables of the law were given
to him. Certainly the locality corresponds in every respecl to the descriptions
in the Bible, and nothing could have been more striking than the perpendicular
and jagged rocks which extended clear down to the valley of Rephidim, where
the people ol Israel awaited the return oi the holy patriarch.
"From ibis point one is shown the spol where Moses, supported by the
two Le\ ites lifted up his hands during the battle in which the hosts of Amalek
retreated in good ordei before the soldiers ol Israel. A little Creek chapel
hi> been constructed on the platform at the summit, where every week one oi
the monks of the convent comes to officiate; the Mussulmans, jealous of the
Christian souvenirs attached to this mountain, began to build a mosque which
is in ruins to-day. but where they siill show the footprint of the camel of the
Prophet. The ascent being absolutely impossible to a dromedary, this foot-
print is stoutly disputed. Ii may have been made bj the Prophet himself.
but then, what a foot! In the Greek chapel, which is the grotto where Moses
look refuge in order not to see Cod laee to lace, a pious legend calls attention
also to an imprint on the wall said to be that oi the patriarch's head. Here one
is tempted to exclaim, not 'What a head'' but, 'Whal a bump he must have
given himself!' After having satiated ourselves with the grand spectacle
before us, we proceeded to a little breakfast in which manna figured but
scantily. A tremendous religious discussion broke out at dessert and varied
the fatigues oi the day. There were plenty ot pros ami cons, and the most
erudite theologians would not have been able to draw any conclusions from
our arguments, which were as subtle as they were inexhaustible! The
coffee and the liqueurs having been generously served, the dispute was on the
point ol becoming envenomed, and it required all our energy to retrain
from throwing each other down I he mountain, where sufficiently terrible
dramas had been enacted without our adding another tragedy. One of the
orators had the wit to turn this conference in the clouds into the chorus of a
SOng, and we descended from the mountain-top in a State Oi perfect accord —
lor the time being. Our return to camp was saluted l>\ a second great feu
de /<>/(' and above all ot wood, for which all the remaining combustible
material was brought into requisition by our Arabs. 'I'he wail ot ' Barddnn,
barddnn kitir,' again arose, and we rolled ourselves up in our blankets at an
earl) hour with a satisfaction unequaled in history.
"I'he next dav was passed at the convent, the garden ot which we had
et visiied Ml the trees were in blossom; these white and rose-colored
tufts on the branches contrasted singularly with the desolation which reigned
round about this little paradise. The vegetable mold, which explained its
incredible fertility, had been brought from Egypt on camel-back; one can form
some idea of the patience and time which the monks needed to accomplish
llns result. Arbors, shaded with vines and sv mmctrieally disposed, trans-
ported us suddenly to one of those too minutely cared-for villas in the
environs of Paris. In the center, a low door seemed to lead into a cave, and
LIFE AND WORKS Ol- //.l.\ I IAK\ G£rOME, 1S7
in truth ii was the entrance to the necropolis oi the monks. h is hi
the bones oi the monks and brothers are heaped up in two distincl rooms.
The bones oi the skeletons were ranged in categories ; the heads in one place,
the tibiae together, and so on, lor cadi membei I Ik- patriarchs alone arc pre-
served entire, in boxes which recall the sarcophagi oi Egyptian mummies.
The season ol the year did not permit us to taste the tnuts ol this delicious
11. where a sample ol everj known tree seemed to figure; lull, to judge
by tile blossoms, the crop must have realized their loudest hopes. In the
absence ol fruit, the fathers offered us some vegetables, which had an enoi
minis success in view ol the privations on thai score we had endured since
our departure from Cairo. They gave each ol us a little bag of manna and
a Imk mi tube idled with honey made by the bees oi the sacred mountain. Con-
sidering thai this link- religious brotherhood, isolated among the mountains,
wants lor nothing and even entertains very hospitably, one is apl to wonder
what is the source oi this tranquil ease m the midsl ol these desert countries.
The revenues ol the convent come from farms which the communities possess
ill the islands ol Cyprus and Crete; moreover, rich endowments have keen
made b) several empresses of Russia and rich pilgrims. Ii is nol without
reason that the Arabs have long coveted the treasures accumulated there,
kill Russia watches closely over the convent and would severely punish any
indiscretion. In inscribing our names on the register before leaving, we saw
nature ol General Bonaparte at the bottom ol a firman written by his
own hand, assuring to the convent his protection, the prestige oi which has
not yet disappeared from among the tnkes ol the peninsula. Finally, our
pockets Stuffed with innumerable dainties, we lore ourselves away from this
hospitable circle, mutually pleased with the reciprocal favors, lor we did nol
tail to leave a bakchich. which largely compensated lor our entertainment.
"The Wadi-Saal, by which we resumed our route, offered nothing new except
the perspective Ol a new series oi narrow J^or^cs and wadis similar lo those
which we already had traversed. The Arabs, however, regard ii as oi great
importance, for it incloses the tomb of a venerated sheikh. The possession ol
the marabout oi the Sheikh Salch is. we weie told, an eternal subjeel o| war
between the tribes jealous of this privileged hearse, The country, however, has
a less desolate aspect than thai pari of the peninsula which separates Sinai
from the cit) ol Suez. Tamarisks, and bushes w iih gray, trembling foliage, filled
our dromedaries with a joy fulness which we did not vet share. Was il sadness
at parting with the good monks or apprehension ol the unknown regions before
us? Like the Hebrews in the desert, we had our little discouragements, but
they did not lasl long. The Wadi-Schkattah was preparing for us a marvelous
surprise the nexl day. At the opening ol the valley the mountains seemed
Suddenly to change their direction, and. widening OUl on each side, gave place
lo an immense plain ol white and rose sand. An Indian city Willi lowers,
pa las. minarets, and domes suddenly appeared before us. Ledges super]
served foi pedestals to these constructions and intensified the effect. It only
needed elephants to complete the illusion, for all that we saw was simply a
\
<88 mi and works Of n uv i/i'x g£r6mi
mountain. Terraces and details of sculpture were so clearly outlined that we
positively thoughl ol making a long detour in order to draw nearer to the
mountain and convince ourselves thai it Rally was a delusion. But our
arrangements for our journey to Akabah did not permit oi alteration, to our
great regret, as we should nave greatly liked to make some sketches of this
marvelous panorama. This Babylon seemed surrounded by colossal walls
Hanked by battlemented towers ; it
merged on the horizon into another
series oi plateaus ol more vivid
tones, which helped to render more
natural this hum-,' .i| ., greal citj
built on the side of a mountain.
The Wadi-Ain, which we reached
the same daj offered no compen-
sation tor tin- superb spectacle we
were leaving, save the si^ht of an
abundant spring, shaded by palms,
where we expected to bathe. Hut
in this limpid water I'urked a dan-
ger which we happily perceived
in lime ; it contained myriads <>t
tin) leeches which could have
produced most disastrous results.
Our animals, who did not inspect
the water so carefully, must have
given themselves a pronounced fit
ol indigestion, and we had con-
siderable trouble in making them
understand that we were in haste
to reach the sea in order to take
0U1 bath in turn.
" Ignorantly we tied from the leeches to a greater danger, tor this part of
i the Gull oi Akabah i^ literally infested by sharks. And, moreover.
it was only alter our second bath that the Arabs took the precaution to inform us
ol this interesting fact, for a camel-driver is not expected to think oi everything
at once' These dangerous shores owe this favor to the quantity oi fish found
lure The clearness ol the water and its tranquillity permitted us to see the fish
from the shore, and it is under these conditions that the Arabs fish with the line,
the net, or. so to speak, by hand. Idle coast here differed absolutely from the
borders ol the Red Sea coming from Sue/; then- were no horribly pointed rocks
anil stones, but a line rOS) sand which made one recall the beach at TrOUVille.
Shells of various tints were scattered around and looked like enormous flowers
cast up by the waves. There we saw a great quantity of coral in formation,
veritable scarlet sponges oi a most brilliant hue. from which it appears the name
of the Red Sea has been borrowed. The sod hereabouts is sufficiently fertile and
LIFE XND WORKS <>/■ JEAN LEON GERi 1X9
well stocked with springs to attracl the Vrabs en villegiatura. Their employmenl
consists exclusively in fishing in this sea that is calmer than a lake. The first
da) of our arrival two fishermen presented themselves in costume ; that is to say,
clad in theiT nets and line*. They must have belonged to the tribe of Beni-
guenons, for we had never imagined that nun could look so much like monkeys.
Their awkward gestures, their winking eyes, and the frightful contraction oi
their jaws made us reluctant to acknowledge them as friends and brothers.
We were guilty of the naivete oi offering to pay them for their lish in money,
but they would only exchange their merchandise foi something to eal . we had
not reflected that, afflicted with an absolute absence of any pocket, they could
not carrj their purses with them. These two gorillas interested us greatly ; they
wen real savages; we gave them something to eat and, thinking they would
want to drink also, we ordered them a gargoulette of fresh water. 'Thanks.'
replied the fisherman, I drank yesterday 1 ' We little expected this lesson in
temperance, translated to us by our dragoman, but the reply was so decided thai
we fell some scruples about insisting. He allowed himself, however, to taste a
little glass of brand}', which probably caused htm to see the heavens halt-
op. ned. lor in his joy he executed jumps that would have achieved the despair
ol Auriol. Broiled on hot stones, which were applied like mustard-plasters, the
tisb were excellent. We made om two apes understand that we should be happy
to have some more, but that, as we were obliged to resume our journey, they
must accompany us; we would stufl them with eatables and they should be
attached to the caravan as grand fishers in ordinary to our Majesties. This was
very agreeable to them and they started at once lor the spot where we were
going to camp. 111 order to have tune to lish before Our arrival. Like real frogs,
they leaped into the water, disappeared, and returned to the bank to ascertain
their catch. This mode of fishing was very amusing, and, while pursuing our
march, we followed them along the shore; suddenly they made us a sij^n to
approach, pointing to a spot where our inexperienced eyes distinguished at first
onh .1 gray mass floating between two currents. It was an immense skate, about
rive meters long, almost stranded; u was snapping up the thousand little lish
that swarmed near the shore. The Arabs surrounded 11 adroitl) and, having no
lines, but our revolvers, we rushed 0111 dromedaries into the water , they entered
in breast-high and we were just about to finish it when, with a single bound, the
huge lish cleared itself and shot away, to our general stupefaction. To tisb
with pistols from the backs <>f dromedaries is a novelty certainly worthy to be
recorded in the annals of pisciculture ' A new sight soon attracted our attention :
shoals oi tin) silvery lish sprang through the air, disappeared, and reappeared
farther on. like clouds oi butterflies ; the presence oi pursuing fish explained this
singular maneuver l>v which these poor creatures endeavored to throw their
enemies oft the track and escape llie pursuit.
"At this point on the gulf we had before us a charming little island, where
the ruins oi a fortress ami a convent are still tolerably well preserved; it is
called Kourieh. It was formerly an important strategic poinl al the time when
the (lull of Akabah was more frequented, being traversed by all the caravans
///■/■ l\/> WORKS Ol /I l\ l!,'\ i. /ATM//
coming from Arabia and India. Unhappily it is in this spc-1 thai the sharks have
established their center oi operations, and numerous accidents have happened in
consequence ol the imprudence ol travelers who have been tempted to traverse
the distance between the shore and this little islet. We bathed there, howevi r,
bul with the greate .1 precautions (II was near this point that Ger6me made his
sketch for his famous painting ol Quarens quern devoret.) The mountains,
which reach here to the water's edge, present a most imposing aspect by their
grand hoi izontal lines ; the sharp peaks and jagged rocks having given pi
immense plateaus, rising one over the other, with drifts of sand here and there.
so astonishingly white that from a distance il can easily lie mistaken lor snow.
The warm coloring of the soil, the pearl-gray and light green of the foliage, give
to the landscape the softest ami most harmonious ol tones. Il was there that we
saw tor the first time the donm-palm, whose thousand branches, grafted on .a
single trunk, make il one ol the strangest ami most picturesque ol trees. It
produces as a fruil a kind of almond, which we tried in vain to eat. hut to which
ill- Arabs attribute preservative properties against illness and aboveall against
the evil eye \t last we arrived at a point where the citj ol ^kabah appeared
at the entrance of a magnificent grove oi palm-,, on the other side of the gulf.
Our attention was distracted for a moment by singular heaps of stone-, ranged
symmetrically across the route we were following. In a country where the
mountains toui h the heavens, so i" speak, and form almost impassable boundaries
between each tribe, the Arabs experience the need ol adding these little heaps oi
pebbles to define more exactly the precise limits ol their respective little
Having ridden roughshod over these ab turd ban. ades, we ceased to be under the
i. ml ol the sheikh who had protected us till now. We were entering on
new territory and were now going to encounter end and military authorities
unknown and much more serious. The overturning ol on oi these boundary
walls would otter a sufficient pretext lor a declaration of war and be the signal fi ■<
bloody reprisals throughout the entire country. Thus, being sufficiently con-
vinced of the importance of these border beds, we henceforth made the tour oi
them with great respect, knowing beforehand what villainous characters we had
to deal with.
"Akabah is unquestionably the point in our desert journey which made the
most profound impression upon us, by the savage and picturesque character of all
that we saw. from the brilliantly colored costumes of the inhabitants to the
strange constructions with their marvelous decorations. Before us the blue-green
nil palm trees mirrored in its transparent wave; an extraordinary vege-
tation, which reminded us ol the □ d parts Oi Fayoum ; houses built el
claw carefully aligned, and whose doors were surmounted by Arabic orna-
mentations almost barbaric in style. Moreover, the types of the population
differed from those we bad hitherto mel ; tall and strong, these athletes looked
lously well in their Ion- red robes ; a black kouffie covered their bead- and
heightened still furthei the wild expression oi their manly physiognomies.
There were doubtless >> pn • Qtativi Ol several tribes bete, for several oi these
Arabs had v ei \ white skms. their resemblance to Europ ir acquaintance
/.//■/ AND WORKS OF JEAN LEON GER&M1 191
being quite startling. Scarcely had our tents been si ret clu-d under the outlying
palms when a numerous deputation came to l>i<l us welcome, and, al the same
time, and above all, assure themselves <>l the resources we could offei for their
industry ol thieving and pilfering. Our kitchen tenl wasvoted themost inter-
esting, and swarmed with amateurs, among whom the most formidable sheikhs
in the country did not disdain to figure, ordering an uninterrupted series ol i ups
of coffee and petits verres. Our poor cook Achmet could not till hall the demands
ol this horde, who, like a sel of chimpanzees, turned over and examined
thingthey could laj hands on. By a system o1 telegraphy which the Arabsalone
understand, and practice marvelously among themselves, our departure from Suez
had been signaled ; the quantity and quality ol our official dromedaries, the num-
ber of our tents and our chickens all had been heralded; we had been expected
for a month, to judge by our crowds ol visitors ami the extraordinary welcome
which overwhelmed us. for we were honored during the evening by salvos ol
firearms and a display ol fireworks. Our presentation to the Sheikh of Akabah
COUld nol take place till the following day, becaUSI lie had gone to steal camels
h mi some neighboring tribes and had not yet returned from his expedition ; such
was the explanation given us of the absence ol this prince' And it was the
son himself who furnished us with these interesting details as to the occupation
ol Ins noble father! The evening of our arrival, the young Governor of the
Citadel came to see us. accompanied by his Grand-Master ol Artillery and the
principal officers of his military household. The sole emblem ol his explosive
functions which distinguished the Grand-Master ol Artillery from the rest was a
long pole, at the end ot which trembled a tiny fuse, which was to touch oil the
dozen firecrackers to be burned in our honor The Governor seemed to be
about thirty years ol age and did not appear to be very much enchanted with the
official post he held in the locality, where his authority was trifling in comparison
with that of the Grand Sheikh, who was for the moment absent on his thieving
tournee. Ills role as representative of the Viceroy was to see to the revict-
ualing ot the Caravan ol Mecca, going and returning. It is a halt which all
pilgrims are forced to make, on account of the configuration of the desert which
remains to be crossed ; a station where they arrive generally having exhausted
their last supplies ol food and water. It is to come to the aid of this pious want
oi forethought on their pari that the government has organized this colossal
buffet, without which the caravan would be obliged to devour itself en route, in
order to reach the holy city. The little fete, the firecrackers, and illuminations
had lasted far on into the night, and we were eager to get to sleep under the
protection ol these brigands, armed with every imaginable weapon, and with
whom we were constrained to be I \tieiuch amiable.
" It was about five o'clock in the morning and we were all sleeping the
sleep "I the just when the dragoman, greatly excited, came to awake us,
announcing the arrival of the Grand Sheikh himself, the real, the only
Mohammed-Gadd ; at once the greatest, the most powerful, and ugliest!
Mounted on a beautiful mare, covered with a cloth all embroidered in red silk
and gold, the sheikh appeared en silhouette on the horizon, like a monument.
I')-' ///■/ l.\ /' H ORK& Ol II I \ I I <>\ i.l i
He was followed by a number oi others, armed like himself to the teeth, and
dressed in the brilliant red robes which we had noticed the day before. Drag-
ging on the ground al the end oi a leather strap was an enormous pistol, which
produced a terrific clanging as it rattled over the stones; while in his lefl hand
he lu-Id a lance immoderately long and adorned with tufts of ostrich plumes.
His chibouk between his lips, he fell off rather than descended from his horse,
and. with the assurance of a man who knows his importance, walked into the
tent where we were to receive him ; not finding us there, he passed immediately
into the kitchen where he ordered, mihs ceremonie, everything he could gulp
down. Tins matinal visit had taken us unawares and the dragoman was very
much vexed by this contretemps, which compelled us to make Mohammed-Gadd
himself wad torus' Awakened with a start, our Colonel, greatly fatigued bj
the journej oi the previous day, was particularly exasperated, and the drag-
oman, more and more anxious, recommended us to observe the greatest courtesy
on account of the danger attending our staj in the territories oi these brigands.
While we were hastily donning the most indispensable vestments, to undergo
this official presentation, he came to report the flattering words which had fallen
from the lips of the sheikh, while he was swallowing everything that the cook
had not been able to hide from him! If we had not soon made our appearance
mptied our bottles, for in our absence //<■ was doing the hi
Oi our kitchen in passing glasses and cups down the line formed by his numer-
ous brothers and friends who had escorted him to the camp Warned of our
approach, he hastily quitted the kitchen, like a child surprised in l In pri
closet' He installed himselt in the salon, and. taken unawares in his turn, it
was with his mouth full and a biseuil in each hand that lie received us! The
most extravagant compliments were exchanged through the medium alwa
the dragoman : in the midst of the stars, we were roving planet ade oi
suns and stray pearls of the Occident ' etc.. etc. To reply to all these charming
hes, our Colonel, addressing himself to the dragoman, replied, Tell him
that now I have seen hiui my happiness is complete, and in order that nothing
may disturb it. I am going at once to bed J " No soonei said than done I The
greal Mohammed-Gadd seemed profoundly touched by this delicate attention!
The rest ol the little band remained to lill his cup and pass him the SUgar-bowl,
into which, by way of simplifying matters, he finally emptied hi The
time passed in a reciprocal examination of costumes; we took ott first one thing
and then another in order to pass things around more easily : our boots partic-
ularly excited his admiration. lie himself had superb ones, entirely red. and
so la re. i < li ol his feet must have had to take two or three steps inside of
barges in order to drag them after him. We showed him our revolvers;
he showed us /,- sabre de son p&re.' It was also the saber ol his grandfather, oi
Ins great-grandfather, and in fact oi all his ancestors; for this marvelous and
terrifying blade dated back to Abou-Bekr. The Arabic inscriptions, admirably
engraved en relief and inlaid with gold, made this weapon an objet d'art id
the greatest value. The coffee, the cognac, and the liqueurs were not sp
during this little exposition, ami we became greatly concerned at the rapid
>*
:
..,
nil. RETURN I-KOM THE CHASE
LIFE AND WORKS Ot Jl i\ L£OA Gl 195
disappearance <>t our must cherished supplies. Thinking to do us a great
pleasure he promised to conic again and sec us ; we thanked him effusively,
promising ourselves nol to be caughl at heme. The refreshments must have
struck him as being first-class, for at the end of an hour a fresh clanging of the
pistol over the stones announced his return with a new series ot sheikhs, redder.
greedier, and thirstier than the others! Our poor cook, raising his hands to
heaven, uttered wails of despair, lor the cups and glasses began a more rapid
circulation than ever. Between two cups, Mohammed-Gadd presented in us ins
brother, the Sheikh Mak-Boul, little, thin, dried-up, ami black ; it was he who
was to accompany us as far as Petra ami secure ! < > t us ,1 hiendh reception by
the different tribes. The diplomatic intervention of the governot ol th fortress
was necessary before we could get rid of this always increasing invasion <>i
thirsty visitors, 'The friends ot friends brought their friends, and our canteens
began to grow alarmingly light.
"Akabah is to-day the most important city in all Arabia I consid-
erably more so than Petra, which is only the rum of a great city, the haunt ill
the thieves and brigands who are designated by the term rebellious tribes. I he
exceptional situation ol Akabah and the marvelous vegetation which charac-
terizes us environs seem to prove that n is built mi the same site as the
ancient .F.lnna. known among the Hebrews under the name ol Blath, and
m ul in Exodus. It was al the end ol' this gulf that the port ot A.sion-
gaber was situated, from whence the fleets >>i Solomon carried as far as the
Indies the renown of his glory and his little collection ot proverbs. Dur-
ing our stay here we were industriously employed in making a sen
must interesting studies. The most important tribes of this part of Arabia
held out a long time against the troops "i Mehemet AH. who revenged him-
sell by cutting down all the palm trees in the country around the gulf, which
reduced to nothing the richness ol this territory for many years. To steal
camels and cut down palm trees constitute the basts of the w.hIh ind
in by these different tribes among themselves, for, profoundly cowardly as
individuals, these Arabs rarely encounter each other in a hand-to-hand fight;
they delight to pepper each other from a distance, crouching behind a rock,
or to tumble down half a mountain 011 each other's heads '
"The governor of the fortress invited us to \ isit his little citadel. Sur
rounded by wide ditches, it occupied the southwestern part ol the city. Its
high walls are Hanked by towers, where four cannon, disabled and useless,
terrify the tribes by their mere appearance The Grand-Master ol Vrtillerj
explained to us his system of defense m case of attack, but having occasion to
notice that the ammunition was three times the size suitable to load these
deadlj cannon, we did not place much confidence in his representations. The
casemates and interior galleries of this stronghold had a sat racter which
delighted us; they recalled, from a decorative point of view, the odd descrip-
tions of Salammbo, by a formidable display of iron bars, of pikes, of extraordi-
narily long lances, ami rusty sabers, which must have dated from the creation.
bo primitive and barbarous were their forms. As in the most thrilling periods
[96 nil >M< WORKS Ot Jl \\ //t>\ (,!/,:
of the Middle Ages, there were piles oi stones carefully ranged mar tin- ram-
parts, ready to In- pitched down on the assailants; they showed us also the
copper pol for the boiling oil and tin- torches destined to set the village on fire
al need Greek fire was the only thing lacking in this little museum oi < 1
oi destruction. The prisons ol the fortress were also ven inspiring, bul we dis-
pensed with the sight ol the instruments "I torture reserved for the prisoners.
Besides, there were rows of posts
arranged like gas-lamps in the court,
which were simply gallows on winch
the recalcitrants oi the little garrison
wen- wont to dangle in space. The
governor ol Akabab is only the repre-
sentative oi the government of Cairo,
and this post is generally very little
sought lor by the Egyptian diplomats.
This mission </< confiance is often the
/ result ot disgrace, or an absence necessi-
tated by a too pronounced devotion to
roulette and trente-et-quarante. We could
not divine the special case oi our host.
but this exile weighed heavily on bim,
to judge by his si^hs every lime we
mentioned ('.mo or Paris. To thank
him tor his gracious reception we look
his photograph twice, and invited him
to dinner, together with his ally Mo-
hammed-Gadd. The tablecloth again
suffered woefully, lor a horrible and
sickening messing with the fingers
began. They barely escaped maiming
themselves with their forks, which they
at first tried to use; the spoons were less rebellious; but the most exquisite
dishes ol our cuisine were not to their taste ; the English mustard, pepper,
and onions, however, had a tremendous success. With a heaping SpOOU the
sheikh saturated his throat, his beard, and his clothes ; but these spots, flagranl
proofs oi his gluttony, were far from intimidating him. and when he had
rinsed out the first pol ol mustard, he asked lor a second, smiling like a
babj asking for more preserves! And then commenced a vocal guttural concert
ot satisfaction, which from long experience we expected, and which on their
pari was 1 prool o| the gratitude with which their stomachs were overloaded.
During "in sojourn we had made one friend; it was the nephew ol Mohammed-
Gadd himself, and son ol the Sheikh Mak-Boul, who was 1.. accompanj us as i.n
as I'elra. This child, about ten years old, had a remarkably line and expres-
sive lace, his gentle disposition had won our affection and consoled us lor the
Iron ions aspect ol bis relatives ; he took licit her coffee nor brand v and thai
Ill I \ND WORKS (>/■ /I I \ //.'\ G£RdM£. [9;
oi itself, sufficient title to our esteem. He also was to form pari oi our escort
with his father, but only as far as the principal encampment of Ins tribe.
••Our departure for Petra was fixed foi the nexl day, and 11 was not without
regret thai we abandoned our superb dromedaries to bestride common camels,
much less swift and less easy of gait. The adieux i<> our camel-drivers from
Sinai and to the original drivers were touching. The two soldiers who had
accompanied us received a bakchicb which so far surpassed their mosl
expectations that the} became almosl crazed with joy, foi our Colonel had
counted out to each a hundred francs in ten-franc gold pieces. As each little
piece jingled down, then- eyes widened with admiration, and when the count was
finished, the Arabs stood petrified, with open hands and gaping mouths, unable to
believe thai this fortune was for them ; in all their lives they had never seen so
much gold ai one nine. I"h. |o\ oi ihese good people was indescribable, and they
could not find expressions sufficiently extravagant or Oriental to testif) to their
regrel at leaving us. A last grasp of the hand, a last look, and we started m dif-
ferent directions, promising ourselves to meet again somewhere, some day. We
passed up above the village in a northeasterly direction and entered on a new
series oi wadis ; the mountains were a succession oi plateaus ol a deep yellow col-
oring, more bizarre than agreeable to the eye. No incident broke the monotony
of our first encampments save the apparition ot some coveys oi partridges, which
us .m opportunity to polish up our guns which had lain untouched since we
[eft lavoum. These partridges, as large as our largest fowls, are nol hunted by
the Arabs lor the want of powder; they differ from the European birds, their
flesh being quite tough; hut we were happy enough to have them. Their gray
color makes it difficult to distinguish them at first from the soil, bin the Arabs
have good eyes and they delighted to point them out to us. The tribes to which
our new camel-drivers belonged were of a much more restless character I ban
those ot the Sinaitic peninsula, and they loaded the camels and put up the tents
to the sound oi .1 war song. This was about the style : one ot tin Arabs chanted
a couplet and all the rest took up the chorus ; there were questions and responses
as in the tragedies oi Sophocles. Weasked for the translation ol some oi these
strophes, whose poetic fancies and Oriental metaphors have a wondrous resem-
blance to the cheerful sublimities ol -some modern writers ! Here is a specimen :
".//; Arab alone: ' He is there, he is there, he is there!'
"Chorus: 'Who? who' who? who''
" The Soloist: 'The enemy Ol our tribe ; I do not see him ; he sees me.
Presently I will see bun ami he will not see me!' And so on for entire hours
without cessation.
" Another idiocy of the same quality : ' There is a lion who is a wolf, for I. a
wolf, am a lion, and 1 will conquer him by my strength, And his children will
be the sla\es ol our children, unless they are their masters.' Which shows
clearh' that if M. — had not died in France, he would still be living among
the wadis of Arabia- Petraea ' Moreover, these war songs d lagommeare entirely
17/ rapport with the harmless combats which the Arabs wage among themselves,
a specimen ol which we had at Petra; the} are so afraid of getting hurt that
'i LIFE IX/> IVOK/CS 01 // I V LEON GERdMB,
they content themselves with uttering piercing cries and making terrible ges
tures, after which they embrace each oilier desperately, invoking Allah and
thanking him for the victories they have gained over— themselves I It is gen-
erally in this final embrace thai they relieve each other ol all valuables in
sign ol reconciliation, in order nol to lose their skill and to keep their hand in.
I hi e periodica] and obligatory vocal concerts amused us for several days and
we sometimes even look part in them, improvising stanzas; hut a1 the eighth
encampmenl we fell thai we were going crazy, and it needed Beveral diplomatic
(ours ./, force to persuade these artists thai their poetry, though ravishing, was
beginning to give us an attack ol the nerves! The verj evening that we
expected some relief, we were greatlj surprised t.> hear them recommence
more furiously than ever; astonished by our reproaches, they informed us thai
tins time they were singing pro-,,-: and that to please us thej had even changed
the music. We did not wish to annoy them further, so we endured to the bitter
i nd. "uh begging them to lower tin- torn- an octave! Lance in hand, the great
Mohammed-Gadd had accompanied us; mounted on his steed <>! battle, he
indulged in extraordinary cries anil gestures to quicken its pace, tor the | r
d. staggering under his weight, could with difficulty keep up with the long
stride hi "in camels At the entrance of the Wadi-Guerra, the sheikh took
oi us. intrusting us to the care ol his brother Mak-Boul and the latter's
little son The child rude en croupe on the paternal saddle, holding ill his arms
a little gazelle which he dandled like a dull. To inspire our new guide with a
ect confidence, we invited him and his son to take their meals with us.
We did nol regrel this move, lor it assured us all his zealous authority in the
dangerous environment which attended our departure from Petra, In order to
return our hospitality, he invited us to dine with him when we reached the
principal encampmenl id ins tribe; it was a horrible repetition of the slovenly
repasts we had already endured in the tents of these Hedoums ; diving up to the
elbows into a dish ol nee hills and passing a sauce ill a kind id wooden sabot, in
which each one dipped his rice-ball before putting it in his neighbor's mouth .'
"As we left the desert of Thi farther and farther to the left, the country
became more and more verdant. Tall grasses and (lowers of every color softened
ill. yellow and red tints ol the rocks; againsl the background ol these warm-toned
mountains, the silvery-leaved shrubs looked even more metallic than on the sand,
where we had already seen them, (hi the horizon, a little to our light, rose
Djebel-Isagra. We had ordered our tents pitched in a natural amphitheater
formed by the rocks; we found ilun several Bocks of sheep, camels, and goats
which, like us. had sought shelter from the wind. From this Noah's at k of ani-
mals we could make our choice, and we adopted a young camel which had been
abandoned by its mother ; it looked like a large goat, and its youth was an excuse
tor its absolute lack of education, lor it soon became extravagantly familiar with
us, entering our lents and not disdaining to roll on our beds! This foundling
wi baptized with the name ol Young Eliakim, The country became more and
green; it was an ocean ol hushes ai almost equal distances, the quivering
foliage giving to the desert the app< .nance of a foaming and agitated sea.
Ill/ AND WORKS Ol Jl '. M //ru G&R&M1 199
"We followed the Wadi-Delaga and the AIn-R6isin between two white walls
formed by the natural bed ol the torrent. This chalky formation greatly resem-
bled the plains ot Champagne ; numerous partridges were the only inhabitants oi
these rocks, overgrown with plants, grasses, and hushes, and the hunters slaugh-
tered them by the hundreds for the benefit oi the Swedish marmite, At each
turning in the ravine we encountered herds, without any guardians, horses, and
particularly superb mares and their foals. We would have been glad to buy one
of these lovely animals but the difficulty was to find the proprietors, of whom we
had not seen the slightest vestige. We had not seen them, but probably they
could not say the same of us, lor from behind a rock the faithful shepherd is
wont to spy upon the country and watch the travelers, i<> rob them when
convenient ' These herds oi horses, which have an air ol being entirely aban-
doned, are all numbered, and when one is wanting, the tribe to which Us
proprietor belongs rises in its entirety to find and reclaim it, il need be, 1>\ fori
of arms. The stealing of animals constitutes the perpetual occupation ol the
country and keeps up the disagreeable relations between the tribes, who. of
course, are forced to sleal again what has been taken Irom them. At our
preceding station the Arabs had presented to us one ot their friends, a shepherd
of the country and known as the most skillful thief 111 the w hole region. In their
eves he was a greal personage, and they professed tor him the profound admi-
ration they always entertain lor the author of a theft or skillfully executed
surprise. One more day among the stones and chasms and we were going to
study at our ease the most remarkable types of these worthies, and especially
their merits apres nature, furnishing them with many involuntary tributes; all
that was left ot our coffee and sugar, in fact all our most cherished supplies, were
appropriated by them, and if we did not complain more bitterly, it was because
we were thankful not to be gobbled up oursehes.'
In a continual state of anxiety as to the intent ions of these marauders,
who each day grew more impertinent and aggressive, sketching became a really
dangi rOUS amusement, since one could scarcely have "one eye centered on the
beauties of nature while the other kept watch on these crafty wretches." The
master succeeded, however, in making various studies, one of which. Spring-
time hi Arabia, represents a lioness rolling on a bank dotted with Sowers, that
m their vivid coloring remind one of the Alpine Bora. Her male looks down
from a neighboring height on the rock] plains oi Petraea, which resemble
petrified billows, while the rising sun flecks with use the cloudlets that fly
Ih lore the wind.
Gerfime himself described to us one morning, 111 his atelier, a droll episode
which occurred at this time.
"I remember once [said he] we were camping in the forum at Petra, where
the Arabs are brigands, veritable brigands. They stole everything they could
see by day, and at night they would creep up so close to us, in hopes oi finding
*00 /.//•/• AND WORKS <>/■ / / / .\ l£OA i,//,vi//
something else thai they could carry oil, thai we could feel the tents shaking
as they moved about, li is an astonishing fad that these miserable wretches
are without any moral sentiment save that of modesty, which is developed to
an extraordinary degree. So that when their nocturnal attentions became
insupportable, we could always drive them ofl 1>\ sending one of our little band
to confront them clad only in his
boots! One night, Lenoir, poor
Lenoir' was so exasperated at hav-
ing his sleep disturbed, that in
language more energetii than ele-
gant, he called out to one of the
intruders whose voice he recognized,
bidding him begone! We were
all convulsed to hear this Arab,
whom we called Agamemnon, repeat
like a parrot the last three words,
w ith a perfecl accent, although he
was entirely ignorant oi their
meaning. 'Ibis tempted Lenoir to
try another experiment. lie sat
up in bed. and shouted ' /. ' '/'
echoed the Arab. 'Am,' continued
Lenoir. 'Am,' said Agamemnon.
■./ scoundrel!' ' / scoundrel/' './
thief!' './ thief!' these self-accusing words re-echoing in the forum with
marvelous distinctness to the intense delight oi our whole encampment."
While relating this anecdote, Gerdme rose up and, with inimitable gesture
aid tone, mimicked in turn Lenoir and his Arab in a manner worthy ot the
Then followed oilu-r stone-., gaj and grave, ol artist
friends who had passed awa) ot Fortuny, who painted lor two months, in this
audio, on bis Spanish Ifarriag . oi Barye, whose chefs-d'oeuvre lie on
every table and cabinet ill the ateliers, and who owed his election to the
Institute largely to the warm affection and personal efforts ot Gerome. "For
years the] allowed bun almost to die ot hunger!" said the master, flushing
with generous indignation. " li was only after he was gone that Ins genius
was fully recognized, and now they will pay any price for pieces cast by his
own hand."
Then he spoke of Baudry, also one of his intimates, whose talent he
greatly admires and whose loss he deeply mourns ; and of Fromentin, one oi bis
til at neighbors and good friends, of whom he said : "A remarkable man. a writer
ol the first order, but. as a painter, he unfortunately lacked the advantage ot
serious study in bis couth. No one realized this more keenly than he himself.
THE MAEABOUT
1889
LIFE AND IVOBKS Of J I M \ Ml-
One morning 1 came into his atelier and found him making a simple rudimentary
study. 'Why are you doing that?' I asked. ' />> learn. 1 ' he replied frankly.
Anil in that spirit lie worked lill the day of his death. lie was only fifty-five
years old a very remarkable man!"
Ami then he chatted "I his beloved pupils. <>i Bargue ami Aublet, "i
Dagnan-Bouveret anil Courtois, ol those Americans, Bridgman, Stewart,
Harrison, all ol whom have almost become Frenchmen! ami with especial
interest ana affection <>i our own Abbott Thayer and De Foresl Brush.
The following extracts from letters by well known American artists bear
witness to their deep appreciation ol the exeeption.il qualities of their I I
master and friend.
Abbotl Thayer writes :
"Tin- thoughl ol (ierome arouses first ol all. in an artist's heart, the senti-
ment of truth-worship. Whatever the degree of appetite for his paintings, they
must forever magnetize each fellow-artist by their stamp of a greal nature's
austere fidelity ; and their purity in those respects, which was plainly his aim.
destines them to last among a very lew to represent his epoch hereafter. As a
man. he is so imposing that it may he dangerous to speak. When he came into
the schoolroom, his presence hushed the crowd, even to the roughest Communist
element, so that yon could always have heard a pin drop, save lor his Own serious
■ lii i a homage emphasized by their different treatment of many other digni-
taries. One oi my innermost longings will always be to get his approval of my
work."
Says Will H. Low :
"Five months in the atelier of G6r6me is so shoii a tune that I have never
presumed to call myself his pupil, hut. under the influence of so strong a nature,
it is possible to receive in that brief period a distinct and abiding impression ol
the man. His personal presence, alert, erect, and keen, is thai ol a soldier, and,
amid his colleagues ot l.'Kcole iks Beaux-Arts, clad in then uniform "i dark-
green, embroidered with silver palms, he appears a veteran surrounded l>\ con-
scripts, flis art is tinctured with the like qualities, and against the invading
armies ol modern realism he has stood \aliant soldier firmly at his post. And
in the future, when the wheat is winnowed from the chaff, it can hardly be
questioned that the typical reality which he has upheld will prevail againsl the
accidental reality of the prolcmporai \ modernistes. One of these last Georges
Rochegrosse exhibited al a late Salon a Death oj Ccesar where the assassins
clambered over one another in then effort to reach the prostrate emperor, as
beggars scramble for a penny pitched in the midst of them. Such a represen-
tation, however possible or probable, can never supplant the dignified and simple
tragedy portrayed by G£rome, any more than the Venus of Milo, with her typical
beauty garnered from a thousand perfections, can be supplanted by a cast from
nature ! "
202 LIFE AND WORKS Of fEAN LEON G£r6ME
J, Allien Weir writes :
" It is with great pleasure thai I subscribe my profound respect and admi-
ration for Gerome. I shall always consider it my good fortune to have had his
counsel and advice just, severe, and appreciative. Differing greatly in the phase
of art which I follow, vet I cannot but esteem him as one of the masters and
most distinguished men oi his age."
George de Foresl Brush says:
As .1 teacher he is very dignified and apparently cold, but really most kind
and soft-hearted, giving his foreign pupils every attention. In his teaching he
avoids anything like recipes tor painting; he constantly points out truths ot
nature, and teaches that art can l» attained only through increased perception
and not by processes. But he pleads constantly with his pupils to understand
that, although absolute fidelity to Nature must be ever in mind, yet it they do
not at last make imitation serve expression, they will end as thej began— only
children. There arc people who pass by Cieromc because he is not a 'colorist,' or
because he does not paint lovable faces, or something which they would do if
thej could paint! But these people do nol ;e< over him; they have no
him. I believe he ts one of the greatest masters, not of modern times, but of all
times, and that he will In' venerated more and more as we grow up to him."
The master's admirers who have not the happiness of a personal acquaint-
ance with him are legion, and he is the constant recipient oi letters and
souvenirs testifying to the respect and affection of Ins unknown friends. In
al cases a profound and touching friendship has thus sprung up. notably
with the well-known artist and professor m the School of Design at Philadelphia,
Stephen J. Ferris, to whose intense appreciation of (Jerome and enlightened
"propaganda" the writer gratefully acknowledges her indebtedness tor her first
glimpse ol the great artist, and the ineffable honor ot having been chosen to be
his biographei
But we must return to I'ctra and our artists there in cam]). On the day ot
their final departure they were obliged to mass their forces and. with revolvers
at full-cock, slowly retire across the boundaries beyond which these brigands
did not venture to follow, Gerome and two oi the "best shots " closing up the
md keeping oil this howling crew, who were only prevented from sur-
rounding and massacring the entire parte by the imposing calmness ami
strategic skill of the Colonel
"On my return from this journey [Gerome writes in his private journal],
I exhibited two very different pictures which caused me ill manner of annoy-
ances: /.</ Mort de Marichal Ney and Golgotha Apropos ot the first one I
was very near having a serious affair with the Prince de la Moskowa, son of the
Marshal. The superintendent of the Beaux Ails begged me several times no1 to
I III: AND WORKS Of // .l.\ lit'X G&ROMl
exhibit this picture ; but 1 steadfastly refused to yield, for the sake of the prin-
ciple involved, declaring to him that painters had as good a chum to write hi
with their brushes as authors with their pens, which is inconti stable. B
tin-- picture was onl) a statement oi a well-known fact, without comment of any
hind. The Administration might put its veto upon it It did not do so, but
chose a middle course the picture was hung in a corner. Ii wa none the less
looked at, and started the tongues of the various political tactions to wagging.
The Legitimists said, 'What a toady of the Imperial Government!' etc. The
Bonapartists, ' What harm have we done him? Isn't he contented yet, when he-
has just been made Office] oi th< Legion ol HonorP'etc. What do you think
of these two ways oi speaking? It 1 had wished to displease the Legitimists,
1 should have served the pur] ot thi Bonapartists, and vice versa/
" As to the subject "I tin second, there was greal asti.ni-.lim. nt because I had
Only painted the shadows ot Christ and the thieves, thus running lull lilt at
ancient and venerated traditions. It seems to me, however, that there was a
certain poetry in this view ol Calvary, a new manner ol treating it. well within
the domain ol painting; but my innovation was not to everybody's taste, and
I was made to feel it keenly."
Gautier writ
[\he Death of Marshal Ney, exposed under the title of The jth of December,
1815,9 o'clock '" M' c Morning, will certainly attract an unceasingly renewed crowd
ot spectators. It is a historical picture, but not in the sense in which this word
was formerly understood. In the first place, the canvas is as small as for a scene
ot genre, and the subject is not drawn from the remote past ; it still palpitates and
SO I" 3peak The artist has treated it in the modern historical manner.
whicb traces things back to their origin, throws aside all vague phraseology, and
seeks lor absolute reality id detail. With a terrible conciseness and gravity,
more thrilling than a dramatic tnise en seine, M. Ge\ro\me depicts this lugubrious
execution just as it must have Liken place. One would say. a proces-verbal
painted by an eve-witness. A dirty wall, a common plastered wall, scribbled
over with political inscriptions which I 11 mil contradict each other, and
Studded with white stars by a vollev- ol balls, occupies diagonally nearly the
whole length ol ih. pi( ture. It is scarcely daylight and this gray morning in the
month of December shakes oil. as best it can. a night of fog. In the ancle ol
the wall a street-lamp swings Us expiring yellow light, and we have a glimpse,
in the shadow, of a picket of soldiers marching away with hurried Step, aln
if fleeing. In the foreground, a black object, Battened against the ground, attracts
the eye. restless in 1I1 pri Qi "t this sinister solitude; it is Marshal Ney,
fallen forward like ill those whom the balls pierce to the heart, the lace turned a
lnile to "He side, the body covered with the mantle, not so completely, however,
but that mi. .hi ei the silk stockings and pumps, tor the bravest oi tin bi ivi
had made a full toilette to go to his death; admirable COquetr} ol a hero!
1] paci 1 a i\ lii In hat <> A/ Bolivar. This hat, in the fashion ol the time.
produces the same tragic effect a th ho in the foreground oi the Barricadeoi
'"I //// AND WOXK& Ol /,<
Meissonier; this form, which would be absurd to-day, takes on a terrible gravity
in its minute rendering. It dates the scene and mingles the bourgeois lilt- of the
time with this sobei drama. On the muddy ground and the meager blades oi
grass thai shool up al the fool ol the old walls, the turn papers oi several car-
tridges are still smoking. In falling, the Marshal seems to have created around
him solitude, abandonment, and terror ; everj body, in the shock and stupor con-
sequent on the murder, lias Bed from the body thai bul now was living and which
the bullets on so many battlefields had spared. According to history, the bod\ oi
the Marshal remained alone ten or fifteen minutes; it seemed thai no one dared
to return. It is this momenl thai M. Gerome has marvelously depicted. One
shivers before his picture as il it were a reality. The painting is forgotten in the
pectacle. Doubtless everything is rendered with the fine, precise touch which
characterizes M. Ger6me. Butonedoes nol pay attention to it; the eye returns
constantlj to the frightful black spot. Whether the impression produced is the
resull "i the fai I itself or ol the art with which the painter has portrayed it, one
thing is certain, that one cannot pass before The jth oj December, 18 '/y, withoul
painful emotion ami oppression ol the heart.''
Scott, the eminent English critic, comments on this remarkable cam,
follOW S :
" Some artists, like some fashionable physicians, take the high places at the
feasl l>\ qualities quite apart from their abilities. These, .such as many in our
Royal Academy, ii the} live too long, have an unpleasant experience oi neglect
and even derision in their old age. Others grow in honor the longer they live,
and ot these is certainly Gerome, the Brsl living painter in all the world for
power in reproducing ■> dramatic momenl on canvas. Unity ol sentiment ami
color, it appears 10 me, is the crowning quality id several French painters. In
our Burlington House Exhibition, jusl closed, Ger6me's Death of Marshal Ney
was a notable example ol this. Idle bluish-gray, misty morning, with the street-
lam]! burning down and dimly gleaming (the old oil-lamp that exhausted itseli
in the dawn); the pallid wall inclosing the caserne, against which he was placed
to receive the vollej : the black figure lying quite straight on the sordid ground .
were the elements of the picture, and the sentiment was preserved in its
integrity, the picture maintained as a true work of art by the colorless self-
denial ol the painter, thai would not even let him accent the blood that was
discoverable beginning to ooze from beneath the dishonored hero. This sim-
plicity of color and propriety of color in relation to sentiment we find very
obvious in the landscape-painters of the French school as compared to ours—
in 1 nivnii, lor example and, among figure-painters, most admirably displayed
in all the work "i 1 me The Death of Marshal Ney I have described
because ii was before the English public so lately; but in his Gladiators—
Ave Ccesar , Imperator ! morituri A' salutant! it was 110 less ably preserved."
During the painting ot the Golgotha, otherwise known as Consummatum Est
or Jerusalem, the critic of the London Athenaum wrote as follows :
LIFE AND WORKS OF JEAN LEOA GERdMB. 207
" M. Ccromc has recently been occupied in carrying oul a novel pictorial
conception ol the Crttcifixion. 'Phis consists in rendering, with the utmost of
his extraordinary power, the terror and pathos ol thai awful subject as thej were
expressed in the features and actions Of the spectators, who, soon alter tin
were assembled at the foot of the cross. The figures of Christ and his com-
p inions in suffering arc represented in the picture by shadows that fall before the
spectators. The city of Jerusalem is shown in the background of the picture."
Gautier devoted to this impressivi i long column in his Salon review.
I le saj s
" It is customar] to begin a critique of the Salon by general reflections upon
art. more or less eloquent, but ordinarily gloomy, from which it would appear
thai we are in a state ol absolute decadence and that our best artists would he
scarcely worthy to mix the colors in the atelier of one of the old masters. We do
not share this opinion and we have a decided esteem tor this poor nineteenth
century, so much despised, hut which will, however, he on< day ranked among
the most glorious ami precious epochs. In these jeremiads, one forgets thai an
exposition is not a museum, and that, in former limes also, there was a great
deal "i bad painting which has not been preserved for us. Ii would he un-
mahle to exact that the labor of a year should equal the productions of all
schools during several centuries, and yet this is almost demanded by those who
compare the che/s-d'eeuvre of Italy, Flanders, and Spain with the canvases which
our contemporary painters bring at a certain time to the halls of the Palais de
l' Industrie. So then, without entering into these idle discussions, we shall at
once attack - our subject and speak of the paintings which seem to us the most
remarkable. We shall pass them in review as they present themselves, and shall
not attempt to arrange them in impossible classifications now. when all styles
seem to leave their special limits and tend toward a general blending.
"It is a singular composition, the picture which M. Ceronie entitles
Jerusalem, the view of which is taken from Calvary. The artist has chosen a
moment neglected by the painters who have so often reproduced the greal drama
of the Passion. This work, to speak truly, is more picturesque than religious,
and, besides, it does not exceed the dimensions of an easel-picture ; a wise limit,
in a time when the habitations of men resemble the cells ot a honeycomb, and
when grand proportions should only be employed lor the mural paintings oi
churches and palaces. The tragedy is consummated ; the executioners, the
Roman soldiers, and the curious crowd that is always attracted bv a spectacle of
punishment, are returning to the city. In the foreground of the picture formed
by the summit of Calvary, in the wan light of an eclipse, three strange, mournful
shadows stretch out over tin chalky ground. What are these trees of death
with their ghastly burdens, Which projed these black silhouettes' The three
gibbets, placed by the artist outside of the picture into which their shadow tails.
We can recognize the cross of the impenitent thief by his more convulsed profile.
This manner ot indicating the invisible gallows shows an original and striking
208 /./// WD WORKS Of // M //,>\ i, //,,-i//
ol invention. The shadow of the torture is more frightful than the
torture itself; but perhaps the idea is too ingeniously literary foi a painter!
Man) another artist would have simply painted Christ between the two thieves,
with all possible care, representing the crosses from the rear in order to conform
to the poinl oi view ; bu1 then, it would only have been a ( alvary like all the
others' In subjects treated ill so SUperioi i in. inner, it is alter all thoroughly
permissible to seek foi something new,
aho\ e all when the wot k has not an
i pecially religious destination.
"The rest of the composition
spreads downward from this plateau of
Calvary, like a panorama around the
platform on which the spectator stands,
The Roman cavaliers, who follow the
winding road and half turn upon linn
hordes to point to the cross ol the
Christ, have a positively superb /<>«/--
nure, and. in spite of their smallness,
are ot the most beautiful .antique style ;
they well represenl the Roman power
in judea. .and by their calmness pro-
test against the old Jewish fanaticism.
The death Ol this just man, whom they
would gladly have spared, has pro-
foundly moved them ; the wonders that
follow his death amaze them. In truth.
the sun is eclipsed ami a livid twilight
envelops the land. On the summit ami
sides ot the hill on which it is built lies
Jerusalem, with its ramparts, its towers.
its e,atcs. its dwellings, and its massive
temple, which dominates the other
edifices. Against the reddish and misty
background of the sky. it stands out in a \a^ue sulphureous glow : seme olive
trees with pale foliage ate touched by a bluish-green light, and in the valley,
like a black serpent, winds the already distant procession. The effect ot this
composition is Strange and bewilders the judgment. One scarcely knows m
what category to place it. for the figures and the landscape are oi equal
importance. It will best come under the head of 'picturesque histo
'. niiiie also drew upon his Oriental portfolios for another cam, is which he
finished this year. M assort describes it. and one of similar theme, in an article
written tot I ,s Lettres et les Arts.
" General Bonaparte <// ( airo and Gem ral Bonaparte in Egypt, like the CEdi-
pUS, &Tt excellent historical pictures. In the first, Bonaparte, mounted on an \i.ii>
LIFE AND WORKS 01 II M LEOA GEROML
horse, regards the immense city extended at his feet. The meditative features
are outlined on the pale azure of the sky sin i, hing over the warm undulations
of the Mogattam in the distance. Below the citadel, the Muezzins are calling
the faithful to praj er, and the minarel of the grand Mosque pierces the heavens.
In the canvas entitled General Bonaparte m Egypt, the simoon blows upon
the army on its march in the desert; perched upon a white camel, who i
neck is stretched oul desperately under the hoi breath ol the wind, the Gen-
eral appears de face, his meager, yellow countenance framed by long black
hair. The coat, buttoned up, makes a somber Bpol accentuated by the white
leather breeches and the yellow-topped boots. The body erect, the greal
li.it posed as if in battle array, he moves on, correct in his severe uniform,
while behind him, succumbing to the heat and the burning sand which blinds
them, the officers oi his staff, whose dromedaries vainly seek for sunn- luii of
moist herbage, abandon themselves to weary postures. Near the General, a
Turk on foot, and several Arab horsemen in their striking cost nines; in the back-
ground, the army slowly defiling. Never has any one more truly rendered the
golden misl raised by the khamsinn ; nevei has an} one thus perfectly expressed
the frightful lassitude which takes possession of the besl trained men save those
who have compelled the body to l>e the docile slave oi the mind, Whal is
remarkable in this picture is. that the thought one reads upon this emai iated face
is evidently far from the desert. It has left the body and. while the eyes fixedly
regard the horizon.it goes on crossing rivers, climbing mountains, traversing
Bonaparte is no longer on the road to Syria he is on the way to India!
lie hesitates between these two halves of the world which he holds in his hands .
he ponders upon the tale ol Alexander and ol (Acsar ; he asks himself it Asia, oi
which he holds the key. is worth this Europe from whence he comes ; and. uncon-
scious ol suffering, his dream embraces the universe! It is a bit of historj that
the author of the Ige oj lugustus has painted for us here, plainly showing, as in
many other celebrated pictures, the philosophical power ol his mind."
IK- has also given another view ol Bonaparte on the heights abovi Cairo,
which is hut little known and which does not equal m power the two just
described.
Ai tlu Salon oi 1869 he exhibited only two pictures and a pencil sketch, in
which, as Gautier sa
"He again reproduced the sculptural form and grand style ol those races
which civilization as yet has not changed, which are like medals that have pre-
served the clear imprint of the primitive stamp. The Strolling Merchant 0/
Cairo, at this Salon, maintains a rare majesty while selling Ins bric-a-brac; one
could easily use him as a patriarch, Abraham or Jacob, in a biblical picture.
Tlie Promenade of the Harem shows us a caique living swiftly along the Nile
under the united efforts of ten oarsmen ; in a cabin on deck is a group ol
mysterious beauties, half visible behind the curtains ; and. crouching m the
stern, a musician chants to the accompaniment of his guela om ol those nasal
2io ///•/■ l\/> WORKS (>/■ // m t/i>\ g£r6mi
songs that possess so keen a charm for barbarous ears, and which we confess
Ives fond of, even should this frank avowal arouse the contempl oi our
musicians. The boat slips over the clear transparent water along the mist)
shon . in a sorl ol luminous fog which produces a magical effect. The hark
to float .11 the same time in the water and in the air. 'These effects, which appear
almost impossible to eyes thai are not accustomed to the lender tones of the 'land
of light,' are rendered by M. Ger6me with absolute fidelity. An admirable
pencil-sketch, which belongs to the Baron <le Boissieu, represents a peasant from
the region oi the Danube, doubtless a souvenir o) the artist's Brsl journey."
The disasters ol the years 1870 ;i. and then mournful effects on artist circles
and life in Paris, have left so indelible a souvenir that we need not dwell upon
them. Gerdme bad removed Ins family to Ins villa in Bougival, and. like all
his countrymen, lull ol confidence as to the ultimate result of the struggle, he
endeavored to continue bis quiet routine oi work in his summei atelier. The
unexpected and rapid approach oi the hostile forces compelled him to make
.1 hasty retreat. tierome hurried to place Ills wile and little ones 111 safety in
England, and started hack, intending to share the fate oi his comrades in the
defense of Paris. But the beautiful city was already encircled by an impregnable
cordon oi vigilant foes, and he was finally obliged to return to London, an invol-
imt,ii\ .md unhappy exile lie accepted the hospitalit} oi an English studio,
and endeavored to utilize the time of his enforced sojourn in a strange land. He
found many devoted friends there, and under other circumstances would have
thoroughlj enjoyed bis Stay. lie often recurs with emotion to those days when.
although unable to speak a word oi English, he learned to know and appreciate
the warmth oi English hearts. Hut griei for the irreparable misfortunes oi
France, anxiety for the future, and the difference in climate, told unfavorablj
upon him. One of his distractions may be interred from the following extract
from a letter written by him some years later in reply to some questions. It
touches several points oi interest :
■Leon G was one oi m\ pupils, he painted my portrait (very badly !).
It was exhibited, but achieved no success, which was just. As to my />//.s7. that
is another affair. It was executed b] Carpeaux in the yearof the war. I was at
London. Carpeaux also ; he proposed to model my bust ; 1 naturally accepted,
as he was a sculptor n\ great talent. This bust is a ekef-d'eeuvre and artists buy
it, not. you understand, in order to have mv effigy, hut because it is a most
remarkable work of art. I will show it to you when you come, which I hope
will be soon. / did not reproduce the Phryne in sculpture; it was Falguiere,
who. by the order of the Maison Goupil, modeled this little figure after my
picture and mv studies. The two little statuettes representing the Danse <///
Ventre and the Danse </>/ Sabre are by Mercie, both after my pictures, and
ordered by tlu Maisi in * ioupil
/.//■/■/ WD WORKS (>/■ Jl I \ L&ON G&RdME z\\
A.s these exquisite figurines have been ascribed in several biographical
sketches to Ger6me, ii is satisfactory ii> hear the master himself ^ r i\r "honor to
whom honor is due." Apropos <>i Carpeaux's work, Timbal says:
" Carpeaux excelled in the bust; he gave ii life; the eyes ol li i ^ figures
sparkled with a brilliancy which till now it seemed thai painting alone could imi
tate. And then, this son of a workingman had an aristocratic talent, and. under
a rough exterior strange contrast with which Nature sometimes amuse- hei
--ell a fineness ol intuition which revealed the gentleman in art. lie knew how
to place a beautiful head on shoulders royally modeled by nature, and to lei
wavy tresses tall naturally upon the velvel 01 ermine ol a state-portrait. The
beautiful busl of Madame la I'nnccsse Mathilde soon made t'arpcaux I lie sculptor
in ordinary to the Imperial family. The full-length statue ol the young Prince,
accompanied by his celebrated dog Nero, consecrated before the eyes ol the
public this title which he did not bear, hut whose office he tilled. What has
become <d' this charming work, not more fragile than the good fortune of him
who had commanded it? Poor artists ol France, who imagined they were
working tor history, dogged in the shadow by the pitrole of social progress!
Among the busts which will perhaps escape the spiteful conspiracies ol the
future. We hope at least that ol (ierome will find a favored place. None will
allot,! a more perfect specimen of the manner of Carpcaiix. It is an instantane-
ous sketch which, with two strokes ,,l the chisel, has caught the fleeting mo-
ment ol a happy expression ; a rare good fortune, the force ol which has not been
weakened by alter Study and labor ol perfection."
Maxime Da Camp also writes: "Life circulates under these thoughtful
features, the glance darts two lightning-flashes ol intelligence and will. This
head is cast in one's memory as it is m the bronze."
In November, 1870, several small pictures appeared at an exhibition ol
English art and were chronicled in the London . / tln-iuvitm.
"We may turn now to examine and laud the elaborate and learned work ol
M. (ierome. which is styled ' / Basht Bazouk.' Il is a half-length figure of a
negro warrior. ( >n his head a high and twisted turban with pendants, on his
body a superbly painted robe ol deep red-rose color, which, having a sheeny
surface, reflects th< light, melts its glowing tints in the shadows, and flushes
strongly in the intermediate folds. Thus this work is more potent in color than
usual ; it is not. however, less solidly and finely modeled. A still more interest-
ing picture is the Pifferari, two Neapolitan men and a boy standing in a very
inhospitable-looking street, during frosty weather. The house to which the noise
ot their bat/pipes is directed is thoroughly unsympathetic, although probably
musical. Recently painted, this picture looks dull and tlat. so that most ot its
subtle wealth ol color is lost lor the while, bill enough is visible in parts ol the
Whole to show how Strong and beautiful much ol the rest must be. The laces
are lull of Striking and suitable expression ; the drawing is worthy ol the artist.
2 12 LIFE t\P WORKS, Of II \N l&OA G&RdMi.
which is all we need say. The drapery shows science and learned thought, and
a profound sense of the obligation to be truthful. With these qualities the result
stands solid, rich, sound ; an artist's work such as, when we have been looking
at the series oi pot -hoilers to w Inch we have above referred (productions though
the} are ol two Oi our most successful and able painters), is certain to give the
English critic unpleasant notions oi how much better it might be lor art among
us if the example ol M. < r< rome were all-powerful, lie stays among us lor a
little while and should receive that homage which is due to his honored, honor-
able, and rare power in art. In no better way can he be welcomed than bv
observing his line example."
In April. 1871, appeared another small canvas, entitled ./// Eastern Girl,
which was immediately acquired by the Duke of Wellington. The Athenceum
calls attention to the "superb flesh painting, perfeci modeling, and intensity oi
expression" as being difficult to surpass.
In replj to a letter regarding the Pifferari, received main years later, ticronie
writes as follows :
" Dear Sir . When I arrived in London the year of the war. with my wife
and children. I had neither brushes, canvas, colors, nor costumes. I soon made
the necessary acquisitions, and as I found some Italians near at hand, I hastened
lo profit by this in employing them as models. I recoiled the picture, but it
would be difficult to estimate its lull value considering the time that has elapsed,
but i remember that it had much success at Mr. Wallis's exhibition in Pall Mall.
I know that I painted it carefully and worked on it sufficiently to finish it
properly, so I may say. without fear of mistake, that the work is respectable,
worthy of me. and worthy of figuring in any serious collection of works of art."
The thud picture represented a corner of the arena at a bull-fight, where the
Picador, from whom the canvas takes its title, sits motionless upon his horse.
resolute, keen, alert, firmly grasping his long lance, ready at any instant lo repel
the attack of the infuriated animal, who has inst succeeded in unhorsing one of
his comrades. The skillful matadors on the opposite side of the arena have
momentarily drawn off the attention of the bull, and afforded the unlucky
horseman the necessary opportunity to limp to the gate which opens tor his
retreal behind the scenes. Bach fact in the crowd ol onlookers is a study, and
the coloring truly Spanish in its warm tones The Athenceum also records at
the London Exhibition of [87a two canvases drawn from his inexhaustible store
ol ( )i leiltal sketches :
" M. t'.erome's pictures will attract all visitors. The first of these is a Street
Scene in (\nro. There we have architecture in sunlight and shadow ; booths and
shops; a lone, vista ol broken pavement; halt a score of dogs dozing ; deep
shadows in the recesses. The chief human figures are two superbly armed and
BATHSHEBA
1889
/.//■/• AND WORKS OF // l\ LEOA .,7
2"3
mounted Arabs in conference with a merchant, who hands to one oi them a
bottle Of cool water; the third Aval) leans up againsl a bulk ; a tall woman, clad
in dark blue and veiled from head to loot in black, bears mi In ■ bip I basket tilled
with oranges like globes of gold; astride her shoulder (his flesh making
delicious 'color' with her blue robe) sits a lively and entirely naked boy ; she
grasps his ankle and makes nothing of her double load. This is a charm-
ing group, exhibiting sonic
of the noblest qualities of
M. ( Jerome's art. Before the
mother trots an older boy.
who is naked but for a green
veil Streaming from his head ;
he carries a fresh branch of
palm. Clad in light blue and
walking behind the last goes
a tall negress, bearing a
greal water-jar on her head.
Beyond these, two women,
muffled in white from head In
foot, are bargaining with the
ou ner oi a booth . met
chaffering just on the verge
of the gloom which obscures
more than half the interior
ii i aearei shop. The bo)
donkey-driver and his beast
have brought to the door of a
private house a visitor, who
is reconnoitered from an
upper window by •> servant.
It is a precious example ol
delicate and elaborate workmanship. Its careful drawing will be enjoyed by all
lovers of form, who will also like its sound and profoundly studied modeling,
which is everywhere observable in the rendering of textures, light, and shade.'
TbisHueau Caire was one oi the famous twelve seen at the Universal Expo
sition of 1878. Paul Lenoir, strolling day after 'lay with Gerome through these
fascinating streets, and with him stopping to note all the peculiarities ol life in
this typical Eastern city, thus records their impressions:
"Cairo is more the capital of Egypt than Paris is ol France, tor the good rea-
son that Paris is only a city, and Cairo is in itsell a whole province. linked it is
more than a province, it is a world; it is all the Orient, past, present and lo , nil,
omplete as at the time oi the Mamelukes, as brilliant as at its zenith, as
picturesque as it was under the caliphs. To think that one could see everything,
c_>-*-t
214 '"I WD WORKS Of _// IX I EO.X G&RdMl
study everything, during a three years' residence there, would be a great mistake.
Our impressions and notes then can only be the thousandtb part of the notes ;m<l
impressions unrecorded. So mucb premised, 'Yallaht Yallahf' and forward!
The Mouski is an admirable type oi the mosl animated and brilliant strei I oi
Cairo This immense avenue offers a rdsu ///,'• ol all thai is picturesque and strik-
ing in the busy city life "l the East. An endless row ol shops, crowded witb
goods, most extraordinary in their variety and profusion, cafes, hairdressers,
butchers, antiquaries, shoemakers, and kitchens in the open aii cadi follows
the other in mosl unexpected succession borrowing from their incongruous
neighborhood a new cachet oi oddity. Everywhere one sees open chests and
boxes, hall capsized in the street to attract customers. To make the amateur
walk over the merchandise, in order to force him to pick up some article, is the
admirable industrial problem successfull) solved 1>\ the greatei proportion of
these thousand and one Ali-Babas. From the old Jew in spectacles, w ho wails to
be implored before he will disturb Ins bits oi antiquities, hidden away in myste-
rious little coffers, to the shoemaker ol the sheikhs for whom the congress
is the last achievement ol civilization all seem to he serving in a kind of priest-
hood. One does not hear the fatiguing and impertinenl harangued small shop-
keepers; a most religious stillness presides over all purchases, all transactions in
the street. The zeal of our 'counter-jumpers' in Prance, the gesticulations and
dissertations with which you ar< pursued as long as you are within sight, ap
ol a meter of grenadine or calico, would be considered here a mosl shocking
breach ol good taste: it is almost the holy silence ol the mosque that reigns
among the shelves and counters ol the Mouski. Do you want to buy a kouffie?
\ou hold the object in one hand and your money in the other, according to the
value placed on il l>\ your dragoman, unless sufficiently skillful to make your
ins for yourself. After having offered on an average the halt of the
price asked tor an article, you retire with the calmness ol a man who knows the
value ol the thing he wishes to buy. .ind you do not insist ; the merchant recalls
you b\ .in almost imperceptible sign ; he consents to displace his pipe, accepts \ our
money and tosses you the goods with the plaintive sigh ol a woman robbed ol her
child' Il your proposals are unacceptable, the tradesman manifests his bitter
sorrow by Smackings of the tongue which recall the experiments of an amateur ill
wine-. And. with tears m Ins \ nice, he pushes back his merchandise, cursing, as
if you had beaten him. ' /.</. la, la. mafic h .' ' he murmurs between his teeth and
his pipe for the chibouk or the narghileh is the indispensable accessor} oi
self-respecting Cairo merchant. The stuffs of the country, with their changing
colors, pearly reflections, and marvelous embroideries, necessarily attract our
attention, and we would still be in those shops had our desire to explore the city
not gol the upper hand of our admiration of yellow silk ' Later, becoming more
expert, we used to buy, almost at full gallop, several of those silky foulards called
kouffies, that the Egyptians use as headdresses. Yellow, striped with green and
red, or yellow upon yellow, embroidered with floss in the same tones, these stulls
shine in the sun m an astonishing manner. Imperceptible threads of gold or sil-
ver, artistically mixed in the texture, produce a brilliant metallic effect. One of
////■ IX/i WORKS Of II l\ ll.i>\ t,!i;o.\ll 215
the most striking features ol this street-life is the peculiarity ol the noises. The
absence oi paving and consequent rumbling oi vehicles, the < 1 1 1 1 1 sound made
by the loot falls of the dromedaries on the hard ground, all this gives a mysterious
and almosl religious character to the spectacle which absorbs us. The cry ol the
donkey-boys, sharp and clear, the music ol the cafi, the neighing ol the asses, the
snort of the dromedaries, furnish the substance ol the orchestra thai accompan-
ies tins perpetual representation . for the Arab walks silently through the street,
the merchants only cry their wares in special bazaars, and almosl the onlj
who avail themselves of this privilege are the strolling old-clothes-men and the
auctioneers ol cast-ofl garments. The methodic ^.m oi each individual
tuates still more this mysterious effect. The donkey-drivers run in a kind
hi short trot favorable to respiration ; the donkeys are on the trol or very
often a lull gallop; the horses generally walk al a slow pace, as il<> the camels
and the dromedaries, since il would seem to derogate from their dignit) were
the] i" increase the already frightful swaying ol the enormous burdens
they carry."
One day. in passing under an archway, they caught a glimpse ol a group thai
Cierome immedialclv transferred In his canvas, and which appeared at this same
exhibition under the title ol / Discussion. The A thenceum <c;i\csa brief outline
ol it :
\ gaunt, sun-dried old Nubian camel-driver, clad in white, and girt with a
rude sword, grasps the halter ol his patient Waiting beasl and. because he is irate
I other modes ol expression, dashes his goad on the stones ol the street.
I le j^rins like an angry tiger because two Cairene men, one ol w liom is a descend-
ant of the Prophet, have, as he thinks, tried to cheat him. They remonstrate
with different and marvelously expressive action, and all three seem to be speak-
ing at once. Through the archway we have a glimpse of a narrow street, with
veiled figures lingering in the shade ol balconies and windows and far-off sun-
light. The camel, like the human figures, is admirably drawn ; the tunes ol the
picture are richer than usual, and the effect is more than commonly happy."
Gerome did not exhibit again till 1-S74. the interval being occupied in
traveling and sketching. He went with Fromentin to Egypt, with Gustave
Boulanger to Spain and Africa, and back to Egypl with several friends, among
whom were his dear pupils Paul Lenoir and Jules Stewart. It was on this last
journey that the ill-fated Lenoir was suddenly seized with a chill while sketching
in the environs of Cairo. In spite of Heroine's earnest entreaties, he lav down in
the warm sand and fell asleep. This was the beginning ol an illness thai proved
fatal, and he was interred al Cairo
The Salon ol 1874 was a memorable one. the master receiving the Grand
Medal of Honor for the second time, the first being in [867, in which year he was
also promoted to the rank ol Officer ol the Legion ol Honor. Says Bergerat :
2i6 /.//■/• l\/i WORKS Of // l.\ I LO\ cr.KOMh.
••Since this epoch, which ended for him the militant portion of his artistic
life, Gerdme has enjoyed the tranquil exercise of a talent sure of itself, masterly
and undisputed. With Baudry and Meissonier he marches at the head oi the
French School, and Ins last expositions have assured him veritable triumphs.
Thus in i s 7 1 he obtained for a second time that medal of honor which an artist
1 1 1 . i \ consider himself happy to have merited once in his life. He had senl to the
Salon three canvases, equally remarkable, and which displayed three different
aspects ol his talent. I wrote as follows in the Journal Officiel of L'£minence
Grise, the most popular ol the three ' No one is ignorant thai the chid person-
age in this scene is that famous Father Joseph, whose occult power, the shadow
nl the Cardinal's, inclined the haughtiest ol heads at the court. With his eyes
fixed upon his breviary, he slowly descends a monumental staircase; a motley
train oi courtiers, bowing to the earth, presses close to the balustrade to give trim
room. Their sparkling costumes contrast with the capuchin's frock, girt with a
cord from winch hangs a rosary. It is in tins contrast that M. Ger6me has
sought to point the satire against the life of the court which he wished to
indicate. It is indeed biting, and the Cardinal, who. on the upper step, turns to
dart a furious glance at the humble monk whom he has jusl obsequiously saluted,
is an irresistible conception What has most evidently tempted. M. Ger6me in
tins subject is the occasion thai he finds to paint all the hacks of these courtiers,
ami to show all these profiles succeeding each other in the same expression ol
smiling servility. The curvature oi the spine, in all its degrees of flatness, this
has been Ins study. Ins pictorial motif, lie has assembled all the phases which
the disposition and temperament of each individual could give to these hacks
bent in salutation ; he has graded their diverse silhouettes, and. covering the
whole with satins, velvets, and laces of all shades, he has written a grand scene
oi high comedy, verj human, verj real, and very ironical. It is a masterpiece,
not as a historical picture, but as a perfect anecdote, where one can find no
faults, hut where there is almost everything to admire.'"
Masson refers to it as "that marvelous picture, so full ol purpose and
acuteness, ol color and life, where Father Joseph, in Ins voluntarj poverty and
monkish simplicity, is so skillfully opposed to this gilded, iridescent, sparkling
court." And the London AtheWSUtn says "the characterization is perfect, the
figures are triumphs of design, and the picture is, as i whole, the best of Cicrome's
late productions." But we might multiply indefinitely the laudatory criticisms
of this well-known picture. Let us pass to the second, of which the Athenaeum
writer :
"We come to the chief attractions ol the Salon when we pause befor
M. Gerdme's pictures. Rex Tibicen makes every one smile. All must admire the
intensity ol the design and the humor oi the artist, who has shown King
Frederick ol Prussia in Ins cabinet, working away at a Bute, lor the love of which
he has thrown aside fatigue a.> well as business. He stands with hent knees
ANACREON (SCULPTURE).
/.//■'/•; AND WORKS OF JEAN I /■ MB. 219
an escritoire on which he has propped up the music-sheet, and, clutching
the magic tube with the finger-tips oi both hands, he sets his meager lips to the
orifice to produce, one would imagine, harsh, unmelodious music, for he will
blow, it seems, too hard, and his lean checks try to compel the sweetness they
cannot utter; as it is, up go his eyebrows, and the eyeballs are uncovered in his
eagerness, while the cue of his wig quaintlj rises on the stifl collar of Ins coat,
So thirsty for melody is the sold ot the kin^ that lie has not stayed to take oft
his dirt) boots! Just returned from hunting, he has stepped into the >
followed by the dogs, whose muddy feel have left marks on the polished Boor
and rich carpets ; but before each weary animal can throw himself down to rest,
one in the king's own chair, the others on the ground, Frederick has torn open,
read, and crumpled up the dispatches thai waited his coming, cast them on the
md grasped the intractable instrument. What will Mr. Carlyle, whose
soul enters not with zest into the enjoymenl of such frivolity as Bute-music, say
to M. t'icrome for thus making fun of his model conqueror? Above the desk is
perched a bust of the sarcastic Voltaire ' The ridicule of the picture is not the
less pungent because it is keen enough to penetrate the thickest skin without
o i \- i n •_; an excuse lor blustering. The irritable captor ol Silesia himself could
hardly have made this jesl an excuse tor war. As a design it is perfecl
satire, one ol the best modern examples."
" In [875 this same picture was exhibited in London." says the lit Journal .
her with Corot's Souvenir d'Arleux i/u Nord. A grand gold medal was to
be given, and the votes were equally divided between Corot and t'icrome sii
;sive linns; ultimately, by the casting vote ot the President, it fell to
G6r< ime."
The third incline was the famous Collaboration, where (icronie. who adores
Moliere, shows us the young playwright in close confab with the ven
Corneille. This is one ol his choicest canvases in this genre, remarkable tor
quiet thought and concentration, masterly drawing and harmonious color.
In the London Art Journal of 1*75. we find the following article, entitled
"The French Gallery in Pall Mall."
"The present generation of untraveled Englishmen owes more perhaps ot
its art culture, in a large and catholic sense, to who [1 has learned on the walls
oi the French Gallery, than to almosl any other London exhibition that could be
1 Tin- Royal Academy and other kindred institutions do noble educa
tional service and keep up annually th( national interest in art; but while
ling us in a hundred pleasant parables that 'man does not live by bread
alone,' their tone is api to b come monotonous, their stories twice-told tales, and
Hi' fare -■ 1 before us runs thus the risk of losing its savor from the simple fact oi
its sameness. Much has been done, however, to improve all this lately ; but when
the French Gallery was first opened, our native exhibitions seemed to strive
unwittingly quite as much alter perpetuating our insularity as disseminat ing art '
--'" LIFE AND WORKS OF II i\ / / > > \ G&RdM&
What the French Gallery began, the Internationa] Exhibition of r 862 completed,
and ever since, London, as a home of the Fine Arts, is perhaps the most liberal
citj in Europe. It is then with peculiar satisfaction that we call the attention ol
our readers to the twent} -second annual exhibition of Continental pictures at the
French Gallery. . . . But, after all, the picture of the exhibition in the Danse
duSabn ol Ger6me. The head of the girl posturing so lithely before the ureal
man and Ins guests, who are seated in an
alcove, is veiled in green gauze, her bosom
is covered with gold pieces and the upper
pari oi hei figure is enveloped in diaphanous
white; around the lowei portion is bound a
thick blue garment, yellow-edged, and be-
neath ii peeps a petticoal of black. In her
righl hand she holds a naked scimiter and
balances another on her head, and all to the
music oi those seated in the half-shadowed
recess behind. The scene is in a sense
barbaric, but by no means unpleasing, and
iierome. by his masterly details, the cunning
way in which he throws, the light on them.
and the evenness which, by beautiful, har-
monious lines and changes and counter-
changes ol color, he gives to the whole
Composition, simply spirits us away Willi
him, and reveals to us a scene which has all
the reality of concrete tact. It is too late in
the day, even it our space permitted, to affect
detailed criticism of a man ol Gerflme's
stani]i ; suffice it to say. the picture is as
complete an example of the master as we
have evei seen, and that the hair thousand
guineas lor which it was commissioned have received at his hands ample
justice and consideration. The artist has given another and simpler aspect
ol the same theme in the Saber Dance in a Ca/4, which possesses, however,
the same inimitable qualities as the more elaborate canvas."
There were but two pictures at the Salon of 1876, ./ San ton, begging at the
door ol ,1 mosque, and Turkish Women ul the Hath, both ol which were re-
exhibited at the Universal Exposition of 1878. The first represents one of those
religious fanatics so graphically described in the Procession of the Carpet ; the
second is vastly more attractive. The same strength and delicac} ol treatment,
so often commented on. is noticeable in this scene at a public bath, where a ureal
varietj Ol postures, always graceful and natural, displays the artist's unrivaled
powers as a draughtsman. The imperious beauty sitting on the warm-toned
LIFE AND WORKS OF //./A //u>\ <;/ ,. 221
carpel seems inclined to chide her swarthy attendant; ami the ebon-hued damsel,
in her turn, vigorously protests as she clutches the narghilehs, which perhaps
have made too tardy an appearance. The low-browed, fair-skinned daughtei "i
the Orient, reclining indolently upon the warm marble step "i ■> fountain to the
right, has jusl fastened a bracelel on her arm and is toying with some jewels as
she listens languidly to the discussion. In th round, which is lighted by
floods oi sunshine, are other bathers indifferent stages oi their ablutions. There
neral impression of well-being and comfort, whicb is the invariable resull
n! these elaborate baths with their accompaniment oi hot ami i old douches, brisk
rubbings and skillful massage, followed bj a delicious Biesta from which one
rouses to enjoy the crowning delight "i the agreeable programme a cup ot
steaming amber-colored Mocha, ami an occasional whiii oi perfumed tob
In coloring ami grouping, this is a charming canvas.
The Universal Exposition of 1878 marked one ol the most noteworthy epochs
in the life ot this great master. In an eloquent pa ites, "It was at
the close ot the Salon ot 1 S 74 that M. tlerbme obtained foi the second time the
Grand Medal ot Honor; it was indeed the hour ot his supreme sway. Gerdme
iftj years old, and he seemed lo have arrived at the zenith oi his renown.
But not yet ; since then, he lias reserved foi those who loved best his rare talent,
new surprises, and 11 was thus 1 hat, besides admiring his inclines, the world
Med at the Universal Exposition ot 1878 saluted him as Sculptor 1 ' Yes'
this same hand, which used the brush with such delicacy, had molded the clay
par grande masse, and aside from his numerous and most interesting paintings,
perfectly finished, masterly in their exquisite beauty, and always supreme,
il lo the public a superb group tins 1 omhul <>/ Gladi-
ators which, Willi lis powerful and virile composition, commanded universal
admiration. It is at once the work of a savant and an artist.'' And indeed,
even those who divine. 1 lo a certain degree Heroine's vast reserve power were
astonished and confounded. That a painter should be tempted b\ the more
art is not surprising, and we have on record several who have achieved
- in both specialties. But that a first attempt should prove him the pi
who had spent a lib I um lo acquire their re] nit at ion this was startling, and
Utterly overthrew the theories ol a taction which exists everywhere, vvln.s,
to be. "Thus far and no farther''' and their aim, to restrain and limit the
manifi tatioc oi genius. Dubosc de Pesquidoux, in his " \rt ot the Nineteenth
( ■ niiirv." a review ot the Universal Exposition of 1878, writes :
" We find in this first series the remarkable work of a new athlete who, from
man} points oi view, belongs in the pleiad 1 havi just reviewed. M. GerOme,
no doubt oi in.' sculptors invade the domain of painting, has wished,
like M. I ton', to take a painter's revengi in the realm of sculptun M . 1 >oi 1 and
222 //// \ND WORKS (>!■ /I l\ L&OA <.!'
M. Gerfime on one side M. Falguiere and M Dubois on the other! The struggle
I-. interesting, and the champions worthy oi eacb other. M. Gerflme lias chosen
for his debut an epoch thai he knows thoroughl) and a suhjeel thai he has treated
man} times. Who has visiter] the world of the ancients oftener than he? Did
not the artist in his youth make .-mew the fortune of unfashionable Olympus
and restore neglected Greece and Rome to honor' I-, it not he who resuscitated
Bacchus and Venus, Anacreon and Theocritus, Daphnis and Chloe, the Caesars
and the Gladiators, the sacred woods and the amphitheaters, the arches ol
triumph and temples, for a generation dotingly fond ol plumes and tournaments.
■ I chatelaines and men-at-arms, oi feudal towers and Gothic color?
"To be sure, M. GerOme owes much to antiquity, bu1 the antique world owes
him something ! He has reconciled our epoch with worn-oul types by presenting
them under a new aspei t. It is assuredly a merit to make an original translation
oi hi old motif and crown it with success. Alter having been the chief of the
Tecs, 1 am aware that M.c.erome brusquely abandoned his followers and
played truanl burning incense before other gods. Hut the ancient deities
only reconquered their pedestals through him, and to-day, resuming in Sculp-
ture the subjects that brought him good fortune in Painting, the grateful
artist worships again before antiquity and borrows for historic statuary a beauti-
ful theme, which has already furnished him with the subject tor a beautiful paint-
ing the Gladiators. M. Ger6me returns thus to Ins point ol departure and
renews the loves ol Ins early manhood. Happy privilege oi art. which permits
one never to grow old ! And in fact the artist lias not grown old. 'The Gladi-
ators is worthy ol his best days. More rugged perhaps than the work of expe-
rienced .sculptors, it has m its picturesque mass an individual tournure and style
which are worth infinitely more than polish and priciositi.
" ddie mirmillon, a figure in bronze, larger than nature, has thrown oft his
of mail, a part ol which remains hanging to his belt. He has broken the formid-
able indent of the retiarius. and at this moment, with his righl toot on the thio.it
of his fallen and panting adversary, he holds him down. The latter writhes like
a boa-constrictor in the clutch of a lion. He has seized the leg of his conqueror
and tries to force H aside. Vain efforts! the foot presses like a rock upon his
breast, the sandal is welded to his neck ! The retiarius retains scarce force
enough to raise his arm toward the assembly and hold up two fingers m a di
ate appeal to the clemency of the spectators. The mirmillon. triumphant and
superb, the haughty head masked by the large visor, the body erect, with shield
on arm and sword in hand, turns toward the seals and awaits the popular verdict
thai shall deliver or slay his adversary. Everything betrays the intoxication of
and pride in his strength. Under his armlets one divines the muscles ol
sleel developed by daily exercise, and beneath the heavy armor lurks the agility
(d a wild beast. Such is the group, and it would be difficult to impart to it more-
accent, more passion, more movement. It would be difficult to render more strik-
ingly, on the one hand the pitiless tranquillity and brutal pride of the victor in the
arena, and on the other the anguish oi di feat and i he tenor ol death. 'The science
oi the mise en a • ne, the exactitude ol the accessories, natural fruil oi the archae-
LIFE AND WORKS Of JEAN LEON i,/i. 223
ological studies oi the author, the arrangement ol the contours, the adjustment
and the style, unite to insure the incontestable superiorit} oi this intensely dra-
matic work. This masterly group well merits the place ol honoi assigned to il
under the Trocadero Dare I confess my whole thought? This creation has a
spirit and a power thai throw the exquisite and incomparable pictures oi the
artist into the background and place the sculptor before the painter."
Charles Blanc, in speaking oi sculpture, says : " It is a great art and al times
one is tempted to believe it the greatest oi all. because it is at one and the same
tunc like the reality and tar superior to nature, substantial ami ideal palpable
and divine."
In later years, when Gerdme had revealed, by the most varied masterpi
in marble and bron/.c. his marvelous powers in this new sphere, we have heard
him say more than once, with a sigh of mm el and satisfaction, "Ah'
I was horn to be a sculptor." and lie had lived more than fifty years before
being able to give reins to his grande passion.' One ot the most touching
souvenirs in our memory is furnished by his description ot his timidity in
undertaking this firsl group, I lis preparations lor it lasted a year, and he
i\ ale or slept alter having once bee,. 111 to mold the clay. lie worked with
ate energy, trembling, hoping, fearing, and at last the mighty group
was cast in one piece, producing a chef-d'oeuvre that placed the artist, with
one stride, in the front rank ol the sculptors ot this century. Though tempted
by munificent otters, he has many times refused to pari with this. Ins "first-
born," as he laughingly calls it, which won lor him his first medal lor sculpture.
It remains on the lawn of his country-seat at Bougival, overshadowed by
majestic trees, the magic touch ot sun and wind and ram having bestowed
on 11 a deep rich patine that art could neither originate nor inula!. '
In the painting ot Pollice Verso the chief combatants have this same pose,
and the tragedy is intensified by the unanimity with which the Vestals in their
pure white robes, which seem to typify grace, mercy, anil pi i se the
thumb, and savagely demand the instant death of the supplicating victim.
But we must not forget the paintings which the master also sent to this
exposition, an array so imposing that, in addition to the medal tor sculpture,
he received for the third time the Grand Medal ol Honor, and was pro-
moted to the rank of Commander 111 the Legion of Honor. The cross ot
1 Mir er is worn on the lapel oi the coal, that oi Commander is suspended around
tlu neck. Apropos of this promotion, Gerdme received the following charming
.1 congratulation from his friend Edmond About "< her ami,jefais comme
,-,.//, crotA fe vous saute mi couf" [Dear friend i 1 follow the example ol
your cross, and fall upon your neck!] In a resume of this exposition De Pes-
quidoUX writes :
M
224 UFE AND WORKS Of Jl M l.£OA 1.I.U1 ' !/ /
"M. G6r6me, whom we place a1 the head oi picturesque genre, exhibits
twelve paintings, seven oi which appear foi the firsl time. We will nol pause
to speak ol L'Aminence Grise,
.1 San/on, and Women at the
Hath, long since appreciated.
We must be content with ;i
rapid survey ol the others, In
,-ill oi them we admire the
purity "I drawing, the preci-
sion oi modeling, the delii at ;
oi touch, and the solidity of
coloring; besides, they are all
eminently picturesque, some-
times touching history in a
familiar way, and borrowed
from a magic country, source
"I all light and all bi aut]
as ol all truth we mean the
Orient! ./ Bashi Bazouk,
with turbaned head orna-
mented with moi]e\ baubles,
is very \ i\ id and ' fetching,'
as he grasps his damaskeened gun and dances to am use his companion, while
the roast ol meal, fruit oi then last robbery, is cooking, suspended on a
tripod. Notice his old comrade with the gi who takes the long pipe
from his month and smiles at the gambols oi hi- friend; from his sash.
mixed in pell-mell with his arsenal, hangs the poultry which will furnish the
repast when they again
come to a halt. I le is the
far-sighted pun eyor oi the
band. Hall soldiers, hall
bandits, ami indeed I
soldiers than bandits, these
scamps are more amusing
here to travelers than in i
reality ! •
" The Turkish sports-
man in a rose-colored
1. in the Return from
the ( hase, stopping to let
horse and dogs drink from
ular basin surmounted
i>\ arabesques and shaded
by green boughs, with a
dee]- slung Over the croup
QATE OF BAB-EL-ZOUEL
188G
1,111. AND WORKS OF JEAN LEON GEi
'3
oi the horse, is equally telling
the movements oi bis anima
U is an excellent picture, ol
in local color, lit- bends with solicitude to watch
s, and does no1 stir lesl be should trouble them
a supple firmness and a soft, charming relief."
'This List picture, otherwise known
peculiarlj personal souvenir, Returninj
is A ( ircassian ul tin Fountain, is a
1 1 i mi ,i bunting expedition, < .« n i
weary horse and hounds halted to quench their ilursi al this picturesque foun-
tain, Tlu' combination was tempting. He slipped from the saddle, and the
sketch then taken furnished the motif for this effective group.
" The lion. cou< luil in his den, surrounded by gnawed bones and moving Ins
tail, is superb in bis majesty, as calm as .i lion in Egyptian granite, as alert as
the untamed denizen oi the
Atlas. Whoever has seen
the sapphire eyes of this
monster shining in his
tawny head, will not mh>h
forget them." [This can-
vas, also known as The I. ion
of the Phosphorescent Eyes,
was painted tor the Sultan
Abdul Aziz, who was so
treacherously assassinat
"The lion on which
St. Jerome is taking so
sound a nap is not less
powerful and serene, hut
he is e\ idently civilized
by the neighborhood of
the Saint ! The artist has
wished to prove that he
understands animals as well
as he does men ; he ( /ill
paint every species. The
African sloughis, who form
the Camp Guard, squatted on their paws or seated on their haunches before the
row ot tents whose occupants are wrapped in slumber, with ears pricked up and
watchful eyes, show an all but human attention heightened by the simplest
mise on seine. The Flemish masters have not bequeathed creations more dis-
tinct nor in a heiter environment ; \1 Gi n like a true master, grows as
in advances. IK- has never done better, and it seems as il it would be difficult
lo i/i> hoi lor ' "
The Street Scene in Cairo has already been described. <>f the Moorish
Bath, a negress assisting her mistress who has just emerged from the water.
l)e Pesquidoux says :
X
///•/■ IND WORKS Of II M IIOX i, I; KOMI
"The ebony body of one and the Lvorj form oi the other, the first with a
yellow Madras kerchief on her head, the second with her wealth oi golden
tresses, are bathed by the ambient air, the high lights being adjusted with
remarkable flexibility; there is nothing to criticise in this little gem, no fault
"I style or orthography ; one could write perfect from one end ol the canvas to
the other. The drawing, the color, the action, are equally irreproachable.
" As for the melancholj duo m the midst of the desert, entitled The . \rab and
Ins Steed, is it not a real drama? How gravely he sits, this Arab, mute in his
grief, worthy son oi Mohammed ' What a tour de force oi draughtsmanship and
anatomy is the body oi this ureal quadruped, still saddled, and stretched out at
full length, his head inertly reposing between the hands and on the knees oi the
cavalier who is sadly bending over him. And all the detail.-, of the work, the
hands, the feet, the in. me. the hide, the stirrups, the pelisse, the turban, the
burnous, aside from the actors, are portrayed, not only with accuracy but with
breadth."
Several oi these pictures, exhibited some years later in London, aroused
universal admiration . the art journals calling especial attention to the "finely
drawn and solidly painted group oi The Arab and his Steed," and to the Moorish
Bath as a " masterpiece oi plastic art . the modeling oi this figure, so subtle and
yel so vividly strong, is a study lor the English artist, over the deficiencies of
whose academic training we have so often to mourn."
The same qualities are notably displayed in the Women at the Bath, with the
Narghiteh, an additional charm being added by the skillful reflections in the
water.
At the Salon in iSSi. Cerome's exhibit renewed the universal wonder and
applause of 1878, and again obtained lor him the Medal lor Sculpture. The
London Athenatum writes: " M.lierdme has won a new laurel b\ his admirable
group in marble oi Anacreon, Bacchus, and love. Here the joyous poet, with a
ibounding in humor, walks with a lyre at his back and carries a godlet on
each arm. Bacchus dozes, while Cupid, a lovely boy. plays with the poet's b
and is regarded by him with tenderness exquisitely mixed with satiric laughter."
This remarkable group, which confirmed the artist's title of Master-Sculptor, was
purchased by Mr. Jacobson. a well known lover and patron of the line arts in
1 op ahagen, and placed in tin.' fine museum which he has generously presented
to in- native city.
\Imuii this time G6r6me also finished the Raphael ami Bramant m the
Sis tine Chapel, and again took up a canvas lor which he had years before
made a sketch, the Burning ol Shelley's body in !//<■ presence ol Lord Byron,
but it still remains to-day with mam oilier unfinished canvases in his studio.
among them the Conspirators, oi which we are happily able to give the original
drawings. We remember that Claretic. being called upon lor a biographical
///■/• AND WORKS <>/■ // l\ //i>\ G&RdME 21;
sketcfa hi Gertme, was so astounded at his vasl achievements, that even this
facile writer was obliged to treat most oi them en masse feeling thai to
merely the names of such masterpieces would be enough, so well are they
known to art-lovers all over the world. The period between 1870 and 1890 has
been Ins most prolific our. Working al the same time on man] different
paintings, it is difficull for the artist himseli to give the exact date ol the
completion ol man} ol Ins beautiful creations, winch were often Bold without
having been public! 3 exhibited in his native country, passing directly into
private collections abroad. Most oi these are souvenirs ol his various journeys,
for Gerflme is continuallj on the wing; all are intensely interesting and worthy
ol detailed description, bul owing to theiT number we are forced to pass some
with a very brief outline, and many with mere mention. All oi his Oriental
themes are taken directl) from nature, and ^ivc an absolutely faithful idea of
the scene or personages represented, and so inexhaustible an. Ins portfolios of
sketches, that he can always produce a charming variant oi any desired theme
and avoid the repetition so distasteful to him. Passing often from one collection
to another, the original names oi the paintings have been changed, and the same
canvas is known under several different titles, necessarily producing much con-
fusion in the lists oi his works hitherto compiled. We have given to each
work its baptismal name, received from the fountain-head. So inimitable is
Gerflme's style and draughtsmanship, however, that there is little danger of
any spurious work appearing under his ostensible signature, whereas even his
unfinished work hears the unmistakable imprint oi this master-hand. A nota-
ble proof of this came in a very curious manner to our personal notice, an
unfinished and unsigned canvas, abstracted from the artist's atelier during the
Franco-Prussian war. having been recognized as his work, thousands oi miles
from Paris, by a well-known American amateur, the lion. M. I'. Kennard. tor
many years U. S. Sub-Treasurei ol Boston. It was boughl l>\ him on faith, and
afterward authenticated by the master. \ 5 the work in question is the sole
example ot (icronie owned Ijv the Art Museum at Boston, the circumstances
ot its discovery and authentication are of public interest, as verifying the
genuineness of this beautiful canvas. Several years ago, while dining in Paris
at the hospitable house of Mr. J. Buxton-Latham, a well-known English jour-
nalist, the host, in relating some of his exciting experiences during the sii
Paris, mentioned an occurrence which aroused our curiosity and eventually led
to the discovery of the missing canvas. \lier dinner, the following brief outline
of the Story was |ollrd down on a card and signed by our host :
"During the first days ol October, 1870, 1 went to Bougival and visited the
atelier of M. (Jerome. My companion look away a canvas (nude slave). We
228 ///■/ AND WORK!, Ot II I \ / 1 1 ' \ i.lAi'lli
were living with a M. Ducrot, a lawyer, No. 8 Place Hoche, Versailles, and he
was to have taken charge oi the picture nil the end ol the siege. - |. B. L."
Armed with this card, we repaired to Gerfime's atelier, where we were then
gathering the material for this volume. Leading the com ersation back to the time
oi Ins hast} ili-ln in England with his family, without giving our reasons, we
obtained from him a lull description ol the canvas on which he had been at work,
and which, as he discovered on his return, had been cut ou/oi its frame on the
easel ! Inquiry proved that M, Ducrol ai \ ersailles had wo/received the painting
in question, and the onl) clew remaining was thai the roving journalist, who had
thus casih become the owner oi a chef-d'oeuvre, bailed from Chicago. Owing
to the interval thai had elapsed since the abstraction ol the canvas, its discovery
seemed hopeless; but it is always the impossible thai happens! The little card
was carefully preserved, and exactly seventeen years from the October of 1870,
we chanced to be dining again, this time al the house oi Dr. Charles Oilman
Smith, one of the hest known physicians oi Chicago. Himself an ardent admirer
ot ('icronic, it was hut natural that the conversation should turn 111 that direction.
strange fortune, it happened thai we had just related to a little circle in one
corner oi the drawing-room the story we had heard in Paris, laughingly inquiring
if all Chicago journalists were of that stamp. Our host, who had heard nothing
oi this conversation, joined our circle a few moments later and. with a "By the
apropos ol ( ieioine." that promised much, related to us that some years
before he had strolled into an oul oi the waj shop in Chicago, attracted by some
bits oi bric-a-brac in the window. The owner of the shop, in rummaging behind
the counter tor some ot his wares, dislodged a canvas which unrolled itself upon
the floor, and although it was hastily returned to its hiding-place under the
counter, the doctor had seen enough, even m the dim light, to arouse his atten-
tion, The dealer evaded his questions and declared the canvas was left only on
It happened that the Hon Mr. Kennard was visiting Doctor S. at this
verj nine. Being an ardenl loveroi the fine arts, his curiosity was also aroused,
and the next day he look occasion to stroll down to the shop. Long before OUT
host had finished his story, we had divined that he was unconsciously furnishing
the "missing link." and that the wail was found! The following week we
started for Boston, and traced the treasure to its present home in the Art
Museum. Al ('.clonics request, Mr. Kennard wrote the following account ot the
circumstances under which he boughl the unfinished canvas:
"The story has obtained some circulation thai the atelier ol (leromc al
Bougival was broken into and sacked by the Germans, or the Communists and
■ petroleuses,' during the demoralized condition ot affairs in the cm irons ot Paris
incident to the lamentable Franco-German war. This is erroneous. The reporl
*
LIFE l.\/> WORKS OF II IX I iOX GERdifl 231
arose, however, from an incident which may be worth relating. Unhappily,
the atelier of Gerdme had noi that exemption from the possibilities ol the war
accorded to Bonheur at Fontainebleau and to Ed. Frere at Ecouen, obtained from
the German government through the influence ol the business agents ol those
illustrious artists m London. Gerdme had not demanded it. It is, bowever, now
well understood that in an unprotected momenl Ins atelier was entered and a
small unfinished canvas surreptitiousl) carried ofl
" Some years subsequently this canvas was disci ivered in a small art -mm
and picture shop in a western city of the United States, bj a well known Bo ton
gentleman, who instantly recognized the touch oi the great mastei as the can-
vas was unrolled before him, and who purchased it upon the assurance ol its
possessor a German newspaper correspondent that during the siege ol Paris he
d a number ol the works oi Gerdme from the action oi a mob, and upon
depositing these treasures at Versailles, the authorities there gave him tins imper-
fect work in recognition of this service .' < >n this canvas one figure only, a female
slave, was apparently finished ; lor the rest, there was simply a foreshadowing oi
the background, with certain pencilings indicating the perspective design. This
history ot the wait, found so far away from home, was implicitly believed by
its Boston owner till a recent personal acquaintance with the master in Paris
ri sealed the absolute facts. It some time since passed from his possession to the
Museum of Fine Arts in Boston and now hangs upon its walls.
"Its author, pleased that his work should be SO readily recognized in a
foreign land, and that his canvas had thus fallen into appreciative ownership,
yielded to the fortunes ol war. and very courteously and generously offered to
his newly found friend to authenticate the work with his signature should In
desire it."
Mr. E, II Clement, the accomplished editor of the Boston Transcript, wrote
at the time of the discovery the following exquisite description of the picture:
"The lion. M. I', Kennard, ol this city, last spring purchased ot a picture
m a western city a little half-finished painting which has had something ot
a history. It was represented by the art-dealer that it was a Gerdme, taken front
the studio of that famous artist, together with other canvases, to save it front
becoming 'loot' for Communards, and subsequently brought to this country by
the correspondent ot a western paper. The western picture-dealer parted with it
foi a comparatively moderate price, and Mr Kennard received his prize here last
summer. On being shown to artists and connoisseurs inthiscity.it was univei
sallj pronounced a genuine Gerdme; Gerdme was written in the subject and
ill' 1 xecution as plainly as the master's autograph signature could have been
an, H hid in a corner. The canvas was about twenty by thirty inches. In the
center stood the only figure completed, and that fortunately was finished with
all the perfection that characterizes the head ol tin- French school ol figure
painters. It was a nude Greek or Circassian slave girl, stood up on a dais 111 a
dealer's quarters. The penciled sketches in outline ot two or three men were
232
III I- AND WORKS OI // ■ l.\ !/,<\ ,,/ao]//
perci pi ible around this centra] subject, which is by sonic declared to be from the
same model thai furnished Ger6me's Phryne and Cleopatra. No description can
begin to do justice to the painful beauty and thrilling pathos conveyed in the
figure of the shrinking victim. The tristful story was told, not only in the face
ball bidden by the sidewise bowing of the head, with its rich black locks, upon
hand and arm pressed close to breast and cheek ; not only in the knitted brow
and swollen but tearless eyes and quivering, ball closed mouth, ujion which the
lone, drawn out horror and agony had fixed an immovable anguish ; but in the
whole lender, brunet te-hued form, painted with Heroine's relentless realistic
fidelity to skm and flesh. The whole quivering figure plainly breathed and
palpitated the mute suffering of the ordeal, and sent forth a proto si against the
unnatural indignity too deep tor expression save in an equally unnatural patience
oi dignity and endurance
'The suggestion was only of the purest, entirely one of sympathy and com-
passion. The painting was last week placed without note or comment in a
private exhibition of artists at the Union League Club in New York. It at once
attracted th< marked attention n deserved, and was almost unanimously pro-
nounced a genuine Gerfime. It was especially interesting to the artists as show-
ing the master at work, and his peculiar effects in process oi development."
Alter receiving the account from Mr. Kennard, we made another efforl to
trace the journalist, ibis time with success; and. on writing i<> him to ask his
confirmation of these facts, we reo ived a lengthy letter, giving full details ol
the expedition to Bougival. Aware, however, thai his statements could casilv
be verified, he did not venture to assert, as he had previously done, that the
I III- I.YD l/dA'A'.v ()/• // l\ ll'j>\ i,l-
*33
authorities had given the picture to A*m, but justified his retention ol il on the
ground thai he bad assisted in saving other valuable paintings, and with a
sublime disregard <>i the difference between " tneum and tuum " he calmly adds
thai on this occasion he "acquired other interesting mementos, among which
are letters from high-standing persons to Gerftme!"
So profoundly was the name ol Gerflme honored thai the invading Germans
and even the riotous hordes oi Communists respectfully Left Ins town .-mil county
residences and studios untouched, and even voluntaril] established a guard over
them, and we were nol a
little chagrined t<> be obliged <\;, •
to confess i" the master thai
our research had proved one
hi our own adopted country-
men Id be the delinquent '
We retrain from gn ing
the name oi this enterpris-
ing German-American, bul congratulate the journalistic profession thai In- baa
transferred the exercise of his peculiar talents to another sphere, although their
lo>s will bardlj lie considered a gain by the Chicago Board "I Tradi !
After passing through several hands this precious fragment was donate*
we bave said, to the Boston Museum oi Fine ^rts, where we found it carefullj
"slciit/," the authorities being unwilling to accord it a prominent place on its
merits. We were bappy, bowever, to notice that at the recent spring opening, in
■ i the enlarged Museum, it bad obtained its rightful place ol honor "on the
i lose to a highly finished Meissonier, ami. though still lacking the master's
signature.il is registered in the catalogue a i > Men sketch as it is,
n has been pronounced by more than one connoisseur the gem oi the collection.
One of the linest of Ger6me's finished paintings, with this same theme, is For
Sale, oi which w in illustration. A later variant with the same title has
two figures and the droll form ol a bal n leaning against a sleeping negress. A
less mournful scene from Eastern life is portrayed in the Souvenir of Cairo \n
a 1 nice sits in negligent altitude on a stone settle OUtSide Ol her house, her
hands clasped around one knee and the lialiouehe half slipping Mom her raised
foot. A gauzy veil, only hall concealing her truly Oriental face, heightens the
beauty which will doubtless he thoroughly appreciated by the approaching
soldiers. Her dimpled, bejeweled arm is exquisitelj drawn, and the voluminous
trousers ,ne most artistically massed aboul her. A thin spiral o1 smoke rises
from her chibouk, as. with half-closed eyes, she yields herself up to a day-dream
which, let us hope, m I less disastrous ending than that ol Alnaschar the
Visional \ '
234 I II I tJVD WORKS, ('/ // I \ rAi'.\ ,,//,
A realistic scene is furnished by the Gun Merchant in Cairo, a swarthy old
Arab in white turban and striped mantle, who, comfortabl} resting on his cush-
ions behind the low balustrade which separates his bootb from the street, is
delicately testing with thumb and forefingei the sharpness of a scimitar, while
his shrewd, piercing eyes are lifted to the questioning warrior who has paused
before the shop, doubtless tempted by the glittering array of arms which cover
the wails ,-md dangle from the ceiling, catching and reflecting the li^ht and
brightening the otherwise obscure recesses oi thi booth. A branch oi palm is
thrust behind a lull sun ol mail hanging outside of the door, beside which a
deliciously ugly Cerberus has mounted guard, and where the inevitable long-
stemmed pipe stands ready foi a fri ndh smoke after the bargain shall have
been concluded. The gorgeous costume ol the helmeted soldier, the coloring
and quality ol textures and the effects of light and shade arc most admirable.
The it'u// of Solomon, which now forms part oi the Mosque oi Omar, is a
composition remarkable for religious feeling and absolute simplicity. Only a high,
weather-beaten wall, with tufts of grass springing here and there from the inter-
stices between the stones, and a group of motionless figures absorbed in prayer or
mournful meditation. Hut what memories attach themselves to this consecrated
spot, intensifying, by force ol contrast, its present desolation ! For the glory oi
the House oi Israel has departed, and the unbeliever d this once Holy
Temple oi Solomon by the worship of strange gods. Beside the sacred wall, with
garments tattered and travel-stained, a weary pilgrim leans his forehead against
the cold stones in an attitude oi utter abandonment and hopelessness; a little
farther on, an old rabbi reads aloud comforting promises from Holy Writ, which
are reverentially listened to by a woman clothed from head to foot m spotless
white, while an ardent believer, who looks for the literal fulfillment oi the
Scriptures, peers through a crevice ill the wall, it haply he may descry the
Prophel whose advent has been so long awaited. Farther still, a fifth, with
folded hands and bowed head, is reciting his prayers, and. in the background,
another woman, whose face and form are entirely conceded by her ample drap-
eries, stands quite apart, not daring to raise even so much as her eyes unto
Heaven!" In the immediate foreground a typical son oi Abraham, with uplifted
countenance and concentrated ^aze. seems to look also lor the literal coming ol
the Prince of the House of David, before whose presence the hated idolaters shall
fly like dial I before the whirlwind, and under whose reign the chosen ol tin Lord
shall again chant in peace their praises oi the Most High.
The artist has painted another view of this sacred wall with onh .me old
rabbi at his devotions, A sharp contrast to this quaint figure is offered by./
Bos hi Bazouk Chief, a picturesque specimen of a brigand, who has thrown himself
down in an indolent attitude on a wooden settle, his left hand resting lightly on
LIFE AND WORKS OF JEAN LEOA GERdME, 235
the exquisite carving, while his righl grasps the stem oi a chibouk. His bronzed
features are admirably set off by a huge turban, and the different textures of the
rich costume are rendered with the artist's usual fidelity and skill.
A most attractive group is entitled ./// Arab aiul I lis Dogs. One smiles in
instinctive sympathy with the pleasant-faced Moslem standing in his doorway,
and affectionatelj regarding two superb greyhounds who lilt theii beads and
return Ins glance with absolutely human intelligence. Aside from the incom-
parable drawing and plastic pose oi these animals, one easily divines the affection
that has guided the hind of the master, who has reproduced again, with such
startling fidelity, the portraits oi his inseparable companions. The gj
attitude of the Arab as In leans against the massively carved door, the various
details of the rich costume, the jeweled weapons in the embroidered hell
the tiles upon the wall, are rendered with the perfect taste inseparable from the
least ol t'u 'Tonic's studies.
A strange mixture of effeminacy and vigor is the Bischari with crisp, wavy
hair standing out from his head, tawny complexion, heavy eyebrows, dreamy
eyes, firm, well-shaped nose, and thick lips, with just a suspicion of mustache.
and winch, parting, reveal teeth of dazzling whiteness. IBs mantle, slipping
from his shoulder, shows a muscular, well-knit frame. With his shield of hip-
popotamus-hide slung around his neck, a formidable sword held by a thong
passed over his righl shoulder, and a sheathed dagger thrust into a leather band
around the wrist, he is an adversary by no means to be despised, in spite ol the
sleep] languor of his glance.
But one lingers longer over the grim- visaged Greek called Ho/sans. Robed
m rich apparel and bristling with costly weapons, he sits on his careen and
cushioned chair, somber and listless, gazing moodily into space. Who
divine his thoughts? Does he. like Alexander, sigh only for more worlds to
conquer, or has the spirit of modern life, with its weariness and satiety, its
melancholy refrain of " tout passe, tout casse, tout lasse," penetrated even to this
favored country, where e;ods and goddesses in their immortal and joyous vigor
once deigned to consort with humanity? Whatever the tenor of his gloomy
reverie, he furnishes a tine motif for a picture. The tiled wall, with its dado oi
matting and little niche containing a jarol odorous spices and rose-leaves, tonus
a pleasing background, and the minoi 3, such as the pendant saber
and cord, the narghileh with the stem coiled like a huge serpent upon a tray,
the rug stretched upon a floor covered with strange arabesques, present .1 most
harmonious ensemble of coloring and design.
In the painting Horses Held by a slave we have a characteristic group, upon
which the artist stumbled while strolling through the quieter streets in Cairo.
Before a door Studded with massive nails and iron placpies with heavy rings,
-'.!'> //// AND WORKS Ot // l\ //,'\ G&RdMl
and sheltered by a curiously carved portico, stands an ebony-hued slave swathed
in the folds oi a snow} burnous. One brawny arm is bare from the shoulder,
.Hid in the hand are loosel) gathered the bridles oi three fleet-footed Arab
coursers, rhe favorite, the "pride oi the desert," carefully groomed and richly
accoutered, turns his eye to watch for the cumin- oi his owner, whose morning
occupation is easily divined by the presence "I the fine fowling-piece hanging
from the pommel oi the saddle. Beyond the deep shallow cast by the over-
hanging stories oi the adjacenl buildings, the sun shines warmly through an
archway that leads to the narrow street at the left, and, perched up aloft on the
tiles of the roof , en silhouette againsl a cloudless sky, a solemn old stork stands
on one leg, enjoying to the lull a delightful sun-bath. A simple scene, lull oi
lighl and warmth, and betraying, in spite oi lis unpretentious realism, the
hand oi the master in the inimitable draughtsmanship and perfeel adjust
tnent of values.
Who does not know the ( ircus Maximus, with its wild, mad tush oi gallant
steeds through clouds oi dust that almost entirely conceal the rumbling chariots
and their sinewy-armed drivers, who are urging on the foaming horses 1'V
frenzied shout and stinging lash' We hold oui breath with the crowd that is
massed in this -real arena, intently watching the furious onward sweep of these
superb animals, who are straining every nerve to gain for their owners the
coveted laurel-wreath. Never has Gcroine exhibited his complete mast
motion more vividly than on this spirited cam as. To the hit rises the old
palace Oi the Caesars, with the theater curving toward the center from which a
subterranean passage led to the grand loge where the Emperor was wont to sit.
surrounded by his favorites. The septizonium towers loftily in the back-round
against the delicately outlined hills. The stalls tor the chariots, not \isible ill
tin foreground, arc so placed lb.it no one oi the competitors will have any
advantage over the rest in reaching the starting-point, which is on the right,
parallel to the meta, which, with its three towers, marks the goal, and in the
interior ol which the favor of the gods was invoked before the commencement
Oi I he races. To allow sufficient space tor the turning of the chariots, the Spina
traverses the arena obliquely and terminates where the half-way point in the
course is marked by the second meta, the lowers ot which are barely visible
behind the -feat obelisk, which to-da\ adorns the l'la/a of St. Peter's in Rome.
Profound research was necessarx lor the reconstruction of the vast arena with
its imposing architectural entourage; this, with the spirited drawing ot the
horses, the delicate finish oi the miniature-like figures oi the spectators, and an
astonishing variety of detail, harmonized under the mellow li-hl ot late alter
ooon, form an ensemble worthy of the great master, and which places this
can\as among the chefs-d'oeuvre of historical paintings,
LIFE AND WORKS OF fEAN LEOA GERdME
More than once ii has been said that one involuntarily smiles and siejis with
G6r6me. This power extends even to his minor pictures, which often portray
only the simplest events in the daily life oi the dwellers in the land oi the sun.
What, for instance, could be more ordinarj and less inspiring than the si^ht oi an
old Jewish Merchant, disputing with some Arabs over a common saddle and
trappings! Yet what complete and subtle knowledge of race and character is
expressed in the drawing oi these strange physiognomies, in these postures, in the
very turn and bend oi the angers! Look at this Arab with the glittering eyes
and regular white teeth, his hands crossed quietly over his sheathed saber and his
burnous thrown back, revealing his bronzed neck and chest, one can almost
hear the incredulous, mocking laugh thai issues from his open mouth, His
friend and companion-in-arms, most probably also bis aider and abettor in all
kmds ot mischief, whose lefl hand firmly grasps the stock oi bis gun while the
fingers oi the right are extended and eloquently expressive oi figures, is giving
vent to a vigorous opinion concerning the merchandise thai lies on the ground.
A third Arab, the muscular development oi whose arm is calculated to inspire one
wiih a certain respect, stands behind his comrades and contents himself tor the
present with listening attentively to the discussion, The shrewd son oi Abra-
ham, tar from allowing himself to be intimidated or even moved by the noi-\
protestations of bis clients, leans upon his stall and lilts his hand with a gesture
of quiet superiority intended both to repress their vehemence and indicate his
entire indifference to their arguments. One can imagine that the articles tossed
so carelessly upon the ground have been brought baek as a bad bargain, and an
indescribable something in the attitude ot the old Jew suggests that his indiffei
once is assumed and that he is perfectlj and rather uneasily conscious of having
over-reached his swarthy customers. Very likely, in accordance with the old
maxim " An eye lor an eye and a tooth lor a tooth." he has only succeeded in
payingoff an old grudge against these wily sons id the desert, who^e reputation
for upright dealing leaves much to be desired. And on looking more closely al
their faces one is convinced, in spite of their show of righteous indignation, that
it is a case of " pot and kettle ' "
In Louis XIV. and the Great Condi, we have one oi G6r6me's effective histori
cal incidents. The staircase in the Palace al \ eisailles, at the head ol which the
monarch stood to receive his illustrious visitor, exists no longer, but the Kscalicr
de la Reine is intact and has the same decorations. Owing to an attack oi the
gout, the ('.rand Conde ascendi d the sups sb.w le and furnished the King w ilh an
opportunity for the flattering remark. " Tis not astonishing, my cousin, that you
walk with difficulty, von bear so heavy a burden of laurels." As in L'Eminence
Grise and the Moliere, the grouping of the court and the rich costumes furnish
graceful contours and warm coloring to this Striking scene.
\
-I" ///•'/• l\/> WORKS <>/■ /I.A.x lfi>.\ G&ROME
In the Arabs Crossing the Desert, we h in the stilling heat, the pitiless
glare, the interminable wastes of the wilderness; bu.1 tins time its monotony is
relieved by vivid bits ol color and glint oi steel, for the tribe ol A.bou-ben-Adhem
has broken camp and is marching across the trackless plain, guided by thai
strange instincl which rarely betrays the ever wandering Bedouin. 'The white-
■ irded patriarch and chief, armed to the teeth and mounted on a thoroughbred,
gazes steadily forward as he paces over
the shifting sands. Mis escorl ride at
his side, their faces sheltered from the
heal by the folds oi their burnous, but
'"*) jA i their keen eyes sweeping the horizon with
incessant vigilance. To ill' Kit, several
white-robed figures sway to and fro
on then lurching dromedaries, lint the
greater number march vigorously on
toot, seemingly undisturbed by the
clouds ot dust through, which their
forms are bazil] outlined. This picture
is lull ol hie .md motion, and the at-
mospheric effects full) equal the faultless
drawing.
Jyj The Negro Keeper ot the Hounds is
a Striking type, as he stands surrounded
by his superb animals, the ettect of his
swarthy complexion being heightened by
his snow-white turban and the back-
ground ol dark green cacti and palms.
L'Aveugle is the portrait ol a si^hl-
le^s patriarch who came daily with his
youthful guide to bring a supply oi Nile
v. itei lo G6r6me, then encamped close to ihe Sphinx, on one ot his many
journeys through Egypt. The picture oi Jean Bart, a Frenchman who gained
renown upon the sea fighting against the English, recalls a droll incident
related by Ger6me. On the eve of leaving lor Egypt, he employed a few
leisun moments in sketching this figure from a favorite model. While thus
occupied he received a visitor, Monsieur X., who. alter arranging with him a
matter ol mutual interest, wished him a bon voyage and Kit him. still busily
painting. Several months later, Ger6me, arriving at Marseilles on his return.
according to custom telegraphed his model, took the night train, and. on
reaching Ins atelier in Paris the next morning, found the fictitious Jean Bart
THE POET'S DIIKAM
1886
/.//•/■ IA /> II ORKS 0/ fEAA I /■<> \ Gl R<
241
dressed in his costume and read} to pose Without delay, the artist seized his
brushes and began where he had lefl off.
His friend Monsieur X., having read in the evening journal the announcement
.1 iniHiii.'s arrival al Marseilles, hastened to Ins atelier earl) in the morning,
intending to be there to receive the wanderer, Entering unannounced, his look
ii joyful anticipation was changed to a stare ol surprise on seeing Ger6me
quietly painting and Jean Bart in the
same posture, with the same expres-
sion on Ins face ! 1 1 is perplexity
became positive stupefaction when
(ierome. whose quick wit hail seized
the possibilities of the situation,
instantly began, "As 1 was saying,"
and, without looking up, resumed
the topic of conversation which had
occupied them at their last inter-
view ! Utterly mystified, the visitor
sank mutely into a chair anil listened
to the artist, who talked on com-
posedly, while painting, only raising
ln> eyes now and then to glance at
his model. Finally his friend could
hear the situation no longer. Striking
his forehead despairingly, he sprang
to his feet and cried, " Tell me, in
Heaven's name- have you hern in
Egypt lor six months, or have I
gone mad?
A hearty peal of laughter from the
master and a hearty embrace relieved his mind oi all doubt, and Jean Bart took a
holiday, while the two friends went out to a petit ddjeuner, where they celebrated
the sate return ol the traveler and the success of his impromptu comedietta !
The Harem in the Kiosk is a charming scene with a luminous atmosphere.
ill favorit ot the Sultan being gathered in a picturesque pavilion overlook-
ing the rippling waters ol the Bosphorus. In the Guardians of the Sultan and
the Grief of the Pasha latter Victor Hugo) the artist displays his incomparable
drawing of wild animals, the lifelessness of the pet tiger being most skillfully
n ndered. In the Serpent < harmer, the pose of the central figure, the convolu-
tions of the great snake, and the varied types and expressions of the fascinated
audience, combine to make thi> one of G6rome's most remarkable works.
?4- LIFE AND WORKS <>/■ // I \ L&OA G£r6ME
" Nominor Leo," another magnificent lion, the artisl has presented to the
Museum of Fine .Arts al Vesoul, his native city, where he is beloved by old and
young and where lie lias numerous pensioners lor whose wants he generously
provides. The Plan Makers is a small canvas remarkable tor the classic contour
and pose of the figures. . / Chat by the Fireside, with one figure standing and
a n oilier crouching by a eh iimu \ -place in blue faience, is one of his most effective
interiors in coloring, grouping, and textures, and in An Arnaut Smoking, and
blowing the smoke into the nostrils of a superb dog, we have one of his besl
examples of this genre. These two pictures wen especial favorites with the
artist, 01 her phases of his talent are shown in Waiting (one figure, epoch ol the
Restoration), ./ Bacchante, Seigneur Louis XIII., I Retiarius, A Gallit Gladiator,
Mademoiselle I. Hi (a portrait of a daughter of Dumas), Pas commode (ancienl
officer), Cave Canem (Roman prisoner of war chained), Portrait of the Artist's
Daughter with her Dog, Personnage -Louis XIII.. Portrait of Baudry, and Por-
trait of M. Rattier (view from his villa, with Gerdme and daughter coming up the
avenue). Besides the paintings we have already described in detail, a Bashi
Ha soak Drinking, Egyptian Cafe, Young Greeks at the Mosque. Treading oat the
l, rain in Egypt, The Sentinel at the Saltan's Tomb, Dante, . Unties Playing Chess in
• i ( ate. Diogenes, The Runners of the Pasha, Cairene Horse Dealer, The Albanians
with their Pol;. A (,ani, of Chess (interior), ./ Ihto (Arnaut and bird), Moorish
Bath No. z, /'he Tulip Folly ami the Relay of Hounds iii the Desert, are among
those best known to the public through reproduction by photogravure. Less
familiar are a Bashi Bazouk (from near Smyrna), Cairene Butcher, Arnaut
t hie/. Almee of Cairo, Greek Woman. Casting Bullets (interior). Call to Prayer.
Woman of Constantinople (flower design on wall in background), Music Lesson
i Vrnaul and Raven), Cairene Merchant. Arnaut with two Dogs, Greek Smoking a
Chibouk, Cairene Women. Arnaut in front of his Pent. Conversation by a Stove,
The Standard Rearer. Bashi Bazouk (high turban, hanging ornaments, thick
lips). Reading of the Koran in a Mosque. Woman of Constantinople (seated),
Woman of Constantinople (standing), Prayer at Hroussa. Egyptian Recruiting
• (on a donkey), Armenian Lady (veiled, beautiful face and hands). Field
oh Rest (cemetery oi Green Mosque at Broussa), Almee at her Poor (smoking
lie), Study old fewess, Butcher of Jerusalem . Arnauts before the Poor
(one playing on mandolin I, Syrian Shepherd, Re/urn of the Lion to his Pen.
Her, Ismail (playing on flute), Black Panther on the Watch (belongs to
M. Theophile Gautier), and Winand Poking (drinking curacao in Holland.
admirable effects oi lighl alter the manner of the Dutch masters).
In 1883 Gerdme completed one of his most famous works, which needs no
further comment than that furnished by the following letter, sent with the
canvas lo its owner, Mr. \Y. T. Walters, ol Baltimore:
LIFE AND works <>/■ LEAN LEON GERdME 243
" My Dear Sir.- I send you a few notes about my picture The Christian
Martyrs' Last Prayer, which you have bought. I regrel to have made you wait
for it so long, bul I had .1 difficull task, being determined 110I to leave il until I
accomplished all of which I was capable. This picture has been upon my easel
for over twenty years. 1 have repainted it from the beginning threi timi s; have
rehandled and rechanged both the effect and the composition, always, however,
preserving my first idea. This, therefore, is really the third canvas which you
receive.
" I In- scene is laid in the Circus Maxim us. which might readil) be mistaki □
for an amphitheater, as in the picture onlj the end oi the circus, ami not the
straighl sides, is visible. But you will see on the left the meta, which ends the
spina, and is the goal around which the chariots made their turns in the races.
as I have indicated by the tracks oi the wheels in the sand. The Circus Maxi-
mus was one of the mightiesl monuments ever built. It held more than one
hundred and fifty thousand spectators, lislclt touched the Palace ol the(
whence a subterranean passage led directl} to the Emperor's loge. In the time
of the Caesars Christians were cruelly persecuted, and many were sentenced to be
devoured by wild beasts.
Fins is the subject of my picture.
\s they were religious enthusiasts, to die was a joy, and they cared little
tor the animals, their only thought being to remain firm to the last. And rarely
indeed was there found a case oi apostasy. The Roman prisons were terrible
dungeons, and Christians, being often long con lined before the sacrifice, w hen led
into the circus were emaciated by disease and covered only with rags. Their
hearts alone remained Strong, their faith alone remained unshaken. In the
middle distance 1 have placed those destined to he burned alive. They were
usually tied upon crosses and smeared with pitch to feed the flames. Alluding
to this. Tacitus says. 'These Christians should certainl] he put to death, hut
wherefore smear them with pitch and hum them like torches'' Ills sympathy,
however, went no further, h was the custom to starve the wild beasts tor
several days beforehand, and they were admitted to the arena up inclined planes.
"Coming from the dark dens below, their first action was ot astonishment
upon facing the bright daylight and the great mass oi people surrounding them.
"They did then, as does to-day the Spanish hull when turned into the arena :
entering with a hound, he suddenly halts in the very middle of a stride.
" This moment I have sought to represent,
"1 consider this picture one of my most studied works, the one lor which I
have given myself most trouble.
"Is it a success' Very truly,
"J. I.. CKRuMK."
In this year appeared also /../ Danse Pyrrhique, which united in a most amaz-
ing manner man] oi the artist's best qualities. Careful study will reveal, at every
instant, hidden beauties which escape notice at a first glance, so harmoniously
adpisted are all the values. It is greatly to be regretted that the accompany-
-II ////■ iND WORKS Ol Jl l\ Ui>\ G&RdMl
ing illustration cannol render the fine coloring of this canvas. This was
followed by the Danse du Baton, in which the lithe, beautiful almee uses a staff
instead oi a saber. The wonderful effects oi light and motion in these exquisite
canvases testified thai the master's incomparably skillful hand was daily acquir-
ing new and more subtle power. In 1884 we find the following notice in the
Li mdon . Xthenceum :
" No painter has been more heartily welcomed on his ret urn to the Salon than
M. Ger6me. He has this yeai favored the world with two remarkable works.
In his Slave Sale at Rome,the leading figure, thai oi a young female slave, is
standing on a loft} platform, so placed thai not one feature escapes the light and
the eyes oi the shouting crowd of bidders, whose extended bands indicate tbeii
eagerness and their admiration ol her beauty. Bach hand is a study oi chara< ti 1
and, so to say, biographical ol its owner, nol only in its peculiar form.bul in its
action. Few ol the men's faces are shown, and oi their bodies only the shoulders
covered 1>\ variously colored garments. Wonderful skill and care have been
expended on the modeling of the virginal figure; over every contour, line, and
changing hue, tin- artist's pencil has lingered so thai no pari is incomplete.
Immense study has been expended upon the foreshortening oi the limbs. Her
righl arm is raised to shade hei face from the glaring li^ht. Conscious of her
late ami careless of her nakedness, devoid oi thai coquetterie which every French
painter excepi M. Gerflme attributes to all the daughters of Eve, her air, attitude,
and expression are those ol an antique statue. The shallow oi her arm is her
onh covering, and oul of thai her glance re\ eals retrospect ion oi the home which
is broken, bul nol .1 gleam oi hope for the future. Here lies not -a little of thai
deeper pathos oi M. GerOme's design, which illustrates Greek recklessness ol fate
and willful blindness to the future. Nevertheless, her people are here. By the
side oi the desk on our righl stands the girl's mother in a black toga, holding a
babe, and ncarei slid are three naked children. The oldest oi them squats on
the platform, her chin resting on her knees, which both her arms embrace, while
m ,1 stolid way she gazes into vacancy beyond the crowd, and waits her turn to
stand where her sistei is, and be sold The hold, hard-featured Roman who sells
the family wears a yellow toga with a red trabea. He stoops bj the side of his
human chattel, toward the crowd, while with -'nc hand outstretched lie replies
VOCiferOUSlj to the bidders. Clerks of the market seated at the desk and a
second group ol slaves complete the design."
"Night in Hi, Desert [continues the Athenceum] is a calm, moonlit scene
pool, where a huge tigress lies at ease, like a grand Egyptian statue, upon
the sand, and seems to purr with grim content, while not far ofl her two cubs
gambol. Idie picture is lull of sentiment, and u has a vague grandeur due to
the vastness oi the landscape and it- simple forms, which, although hut half
visible, loom up in the uniform, almost shadowless twilighl oi the moon.
./ Roman Slave-Market, which was finished about this time, hut not sen!
i" the Salon, shows tin- reverse side oi the Slave Sale at Rome- the faces of the
i ki I I'l l; 01 II' •' ND:
LIFE AND WORKS Of /' l.\ LEO Mi 24;
bidders, with all their variety "I lineament and expression, while thai of the
beautiful slave is turned aside. It is almost as effective and pathetic as the
first canvas.
It was in this year, in celebration of Gerflme's sixtieth birthday, thai
Chaplain, engraver in metals, executed Ins famous bronze medallion portrait
oi the artist, an admirable woodcut of which was made for the Century
Magazine of February, 1889, l>\ a well-known American artist and former pupil
of Gerflme, Wvatt Baton. The same number contains other engravings after
Gerflme, several oi which are worthy to be cut oul and framed, especially those
executed by Henry Wolf, an Alsatian, we believe, who begged the favor ol
reproducing the masterpieces oi his illustrious countryman. Gerflme, in turn.
pronounced Wolf's work, especially in L'QZdipe, to be the finest he had ever
seen, and was delighted to find that the engraver was a Frenchman.
Gerflme sent but one canvas to the Salon oi [885, but it aroused the most
enthusiastic admiration lor the amazing and evidently steadih increasing p
oi this veteran oi sixty ; it is probably the most remarkable oi bis pictures in this
genre. We well remember strolling through the 1'alais de I'lndustrie, on a
gloomy, rainy morning, that reminded one oi London, and suddenly exclaiming,
" The weather musl be clearing!" Hut the sound oi the steady downpoui
undeceived us and we found that the warm light shone out from a large canvas
on the opposite side oi the room. It seemed to till the whole gallery with its
sunny rays, so wonderful was the refraction from the great pool oi water and the
rising vapor. The London Athenaeum says :
"The Grande Piscine de Brousse is a larger work than M. Gerflme usually
gives us, with more figures, and not less elaborate than his wont. Idle scene
is the interior oi a vast Romanesque octagon oi stone ; its solid arcaded walls are
lixed with seats in the reeesses. and. in front, a wide platform of colored si.. ins
incloses the bath proper. The place is illuminated by brilliant rays oi sunlight
which, entering by openings in the solid roofs and traversing the vapor-laden
atmosphere of the building, strike the floor to be reflected on the numerous nude
or half-nude bathers who sit on benches, loiter with their feet in the water, swim,
or stride on high clogs across the pavement, A tall, fair maiden, thus mounted
and leaning on the shoulder oi a black attendant, crosses the place with unsteady
steps, This young bather is one oi the best figures M. Gerflme has evi 1 painti a
so elear, firm, elastic, and rosy. It is exquisitely drawn and modeled with the
utmost choiceness, refinement, and research. Some of the minor figures also
I] thi harms oi delicacy, vitality, and grace. The best group sits on a
bench on our right in the mid-distance and is illuminated by cool, direct rays-
still others by warm, reflected light."
The illustration we give conveys but a faint idea oi the beauty oi this
cam as.
2 4 8
/.//■/■ AND WORKS (>/■ // i.\ i/-.n.\ GiRdML
About this time appeared also thai grandesl of all his desert scenes, Les Deua
Majestes, which has been described in an earl) part oi this volume. These two
absolute dissimilai ity,
powers of the artist,
memorable one. Our
t
paintings are well calculated, in their
to emphasize the varied and perfected
The year r886 was again a most
readi rs will remember i be encamp-
iiirni in the desert where Lenoir,
heading the merry crew,
started before dai bi
to make the ascent oi
the i iivai Pyramid with
the assistance oi their Arabs, leaving the master alone to watch the shadows
melt au.i\ and the unimpressionable mass ol stone in these eternal monu-
ments blush under the First Kiss <•/ the Sun. The canvas which reproduces
this perfect scene appeared at the Salon oi 1886. Says the Athenceum, "Simple
as it is. this picture is grand and poetical," and Mrs. Stranahan writes. "The
Kiss of the Morning Sun is lull of poetry. In the hush of
the early dawn a caravan lies sleeping in the desert, as
the highesl peaks 1,1 the Pyramids and the Sphinx are turned
to a rosy bue by the first rays, the kiss, oi the rising sun.
\ 1 1 is impressively suggestive of the processes of nature
\ continuing with their full effects of beauty, whether there
"^v^^ he observers or not, even while man sleeps regard-
less of the rare and passing instant.' But (iermne
was not the one to sleep away the hours when
Nature reveals herself to her true worshipers
in her loveliest moods, one of which he has
reproduced for us in this exquisite land-
scape. Charming as it is. it was almost
eclipsed by another desert scene, the famous
CEdipus, which we have also sketched in the
early portion of this work. The London
Athena' 11 in writes as follows :
\s M.inromc's pictures depend greatly
011 the expression and character of their land-
scapes, we shall notice them in the
present connection among the other
landscapes with figures. No. 104s is named (Edipe, and gives us Napoleon on
horseback before the Sphinx, which is a prominent object on the vast plateau
where, in squadrons and lines, dark-blue masses of the French army are seen as
LIFE AND WORKS OF JEAN LEON GERdML
■ n
far as the eye can roach. The time is [ate afternoon, when the sun is well on the
north. Beyond the margin of our picture, on our left, the Emperor's guards are
assembled, but only their shadows are distinct on the sands in front. The execu-
tion of this picture is so
minute and veracious that
the effeel is stereoscopic.
The delineation oi the enor-
mous Sphinx could hardly
be more striking; it gives
a shadow oi a clear sap-
phire blue on those contours
which face the sky, and
shows them to he brown
where they front tile ruddy
or the yellow earth, the
local color of the stones
being, of course, a pale
brown. The modeling is as
solid as in a photograph.
The foreshortening of the
outlines oi the shadow s. as
they lie on the varying sur-
faces of the Statue, could
hardly have been studied
with greater delicacy. Na-
poleon's figui i . and that
ol his beautiful horse, are
quite like miniatures, and
have been depicted with the same research which is apparent elsewhere;
his air and face inform us that he is demanding oi the statue the answer it
has given to none."
In connection with this canvas the following
i- interesting:
extract from a letter to a friend
•■ To reply to your question as to the Sphinx, 1 made his acquaintance a long
time ago; I was camping all alone near the Pyramids, with my t < >< >k and my
nan. 1 lodged under a large tree where, in spite of the meat heat, lor it
was m the month of May. I was very comfortable. I was at the gate of the
desert ; the cultivated lands end just there and the desert begins, consequently 1
made sketches of everything that surrounded me ; the Sphinx, the Pyramids, the
sandy plains, which from this point extend far into Africa. I did not know
beforehand what 1 was going to do with these studies, nor with all the others that
I ii i e brought back from my travels. It is only later that ideas come ; there is
an unconscious labor in the brain and. suddenly, they are born! At least, so it
is with me. and I suppose the same thing happens to main Others."
250 LIFE AND WORKS Of / /■ I \ //■:n.\ G&KdAfi
lii an original pen-and-ink sketcb oi the (Ediptis, the Eagle is proudly
perched upon the Sphinx, as it to imply the absolute dominion of the Firsl
Consul. In the painting, this feature does not appear. The fortunate owner of
the sketch saw this remarkable canvas for the first time under circumstances
which reveal so evidently, as in the story ol "/run Bart," the master's love of a
practical joke and his skill as comedien, that we venture to reproduce this scene
in the artist's atelier, quoting trom the original version ol the episode :
"The talk one morning turns 10 in, .s.don ol 1887 and the preceding year,
and a much desired opportunity comes to inc.
" 'Do you know where your pictures go when they are sold ' I ask, as he
leans hack among the cushions, this time really smoking, not matches, lint a
simple brierwood pipe.
Sometimes, hut rarely beyond the firsl purchaser, ii they change hands
' Hut don't you care to know ?' I persist.
"'When they are finished, thej an- finished,' be replies, with a shine; ol his
shoulders, and there is an end of them as lai as I am concerned. But why do
you ask ' '
"'Because there is one I have nol vet seen, and cannot trace, hut which l
am determined to find il I have to make a special pilgrimage
• Ah and that is
"■ L'OEdipe, Bonaparte before the Sphinx, which you exhibited at the Salon in
[886. I was not here, and I \),i\v only seen a wretched woodcut Oi it . hut the
1.1 1 the composition, made so deep an impression on me that it haunts me.'
" I'll ere is a sudden flash trom the slumhrous e\ es.
" ' Tiens ' . 'est curieux '
\\ hat is strange ?'
" ' Everything in lite.' is the sage reply. ' Hut I find it especially strange that
I should happen to know where this very picture is at this moment.'
I spring up m excitement,
" Tell me where' Is it here 111 Tails' Is it tar awa\ ' Where shall I find
it ' Tell me, quickly I '
'" Voyons voyons ' Soyez tranquille ! It is here in Paris, just around the
corner. It belongs to one ol" my friends, and you shall see it as soon as you like.'
" I begin to draw on ni\ gloves.
"'I will go at once, and you..//. 1 Waitre, you will write a line to say
"I'lease admit hearei to see the Sphinx.'" Make haste, oh. please make
haste '
" My impatience has no effect on the imperturbable smoker, who regards
me steadily, a very sphinx himself, with the addition of an amused twinkle in
the enigmatic eyes.
"A card is not necessary. You have simply to ask. and you can see it.
You may say I sent j on
" 'Oh. truly! I think I see inysclt demanding to enter private apartments,
I 111. AND WORKS 01 Jl M I l.o\ (,lko\ll 251
and saying, "Gerdme sent me!" It is likely that I would be admitted! Wli.it
obji 1 nun can you have il will take bul a second ' Come, here is paper, ink, a
pen ' '
"Thus 1 plead, nol a little surprised that ii should be necessary, so quick is
this generous nature to respond to the slightest appeal Finally he rises, but
instead o) going to the writing-table, he crosses the room to a corner where hang
iat and hat. Ah. the good master' he is going to accompany me himsell '
1 sei/e my p irasol and, in obedience to a gesture, hasten toward him. Hut to m\
astonishment, instead of passing into the hall, he turns a brass knob till then
unnoticed by me. and a door m the wall swings hack, revealing a dim passage.
\ coin Icons wave ol the hand invites me to enter. Not daring to question. 1
step in, followed by my host, grave and mute as the Memnon ami Sesostris who
guard this mysterious, movable panel which closes noiselessly behind us. The
sudden transition from the bright atelier to the obscurity of this narrow fallen
confuses me and 1 stand irresolute, till a light touch on my shoulder urges me
forward. My heart beats with eager anticipation of, I know not what, but
assuredly it will be something delightful! I advance, step bj step, turning to
tlie right, to the Kit, then sharply to tin- righl again, and my outstretched hand
strikes an obstacle.
\ door ' ' 1 whisper.
"'Ebben! ouvrez!' There is a quiver of suppressed merriment in the
voice.
" 1 grope for the handle and turn it. Darkness still. A faint perfume lianas
111 the air. and my foot sinks in a luxurious rug. In mingled enjoyment of this
mystery and impatience to end it, I cry :
■ Whei i
"The word-- have scarcely escaped me. when I hear the harsh grating of a
holt, the shutters are thrown back, and a flood ot light falls upon the Sphinx.'
"'Eh bicn .' The master sits quietly in a chair, enjoying his little plot ;
for he. himself, is the owner ol the painting which is truly 'just around the
corner,' and the obscure passage turns out to be a plain everyday corridor, which
runs along his ateliers and connects the rooms where he stores costumes, books.
casts, etc., with his own apartments, darkened to keep out the summer heat
and glare, and m one ot which hangs the long-sought foi (Edipus.
" ' It is for my children,' says the artist. ' 1 would never sell it. I love it
too well. We are old friends,' In- adds, rising and passing his hand affectionately
over the mass ol yellow stone. It is impossible, w bile looking at it, to think of
pa in I ami < anvas .'
" And then he falls to describing his life in the desert, alone, in the twilight
and thr early dawn, under the blazing sun and in the midnight stillness, with
this mysterious being who has revealed to him 'marvelous things.'
" 1 can well believe it '
\ Iter this, the little door stands always open to me. and 1 slip in often
alone, to look at this masterpiece, which, with its tender tones, renders the
Orient so much more faithfully than the flaming canvases ol other painters ot
«S 2 'HI AND WORKS Ol- Jl M 1 1.<>\ G&ROME
Eastern subjects. Ami as I study these inscrutable features, 1 fancy thai I catch.
now and then, a fleeting, semi-ironical smile which seems to say, 'Why search
elsewhere' Behold in me all mystery and the key thereof!' I speak of this in
the master, lie replies quietly, ' Mais, sans doutel ' and smiles al the Sphinx,
who positive^ returns his glance! There is certainly an understanding between
them ! "
In November, 1886, Gerdme finished another well-known painting, La PorU
des Boulets, now in the Powers Ar! Gallery a! Rochester, N. Y. The following
letter from the artist to Mr. Powers accompanied the canvas:
" Dear Sir: Excuse me for nol writing to you in English, but I only know
two words ni thai language, 'yes'and ' no'! As you see. my vocabulary is very
small, and 'lues nol permit me to express my thoughts. Your picture was
finished to-day, I have given greal care to it in the hope of pleasing you. and
I trusl you will find it altered to its advantage. When you honored me with
your visit, onl] a few of the figures were drawn, and the principal ones were nol
finished. It is sent to you in a very had state, like all the work thai goes oul
ol an artist's studio, thai is to say, that it is covered with spots and blotches
that will disappear in the varnishing. I took pains not to varnish it because it
is freshly painted, ami that would have been disastrous in the future. Do not
pa-^s judgmenl on it lor the present ; wait until it is varnished, for it will be
completely changed, hut do not submit it to this operation before two months.
By that time it will be completely dry.
" The scene is laid ai the Gate of Bab-el-Zouel, which ends the large bazaars
of Cairo. This place is always Idled with people of all countries. On
here fellahs, Jews, inhabitants ol the borders of the Red Sea, people from
Central Attica and Abyssinia, men from the Soudan, traveling merchants.
purchasers, loungers, and Europeans. It is the liveliest sighl in the city.
"The two personages dressed in white arc runners, or sais, who precede a
pasha on horseback. Riders have always one or two sais. who clear the way and
who hold the horse when they go into a house or shop. Formerly there were
only two means of locomotion, asses and horses; carriages did not exist. Then
the number ol sais was large, but to-day, as there are many vehicles, they have
singularly diminished, but still a few remain.
"Contrary to my usual custom, and to accede to your wish. I have signed
1I11- picture twice, the tirst lime with my name, and the second lime with my
portrait, in the right-hand corner, the person dressed in blue. On my head there
is a green turban, to winch I have no right, because only those who have
returned from a pilgrimage to Mecca may wear it. ll is true thai 1 have been
very near that holy city ' This work is therefore doubly authenticated, and 1
shall be pleased to meet your approval.
" Please accept, sir, with my cordial salutations, the avowal ol my besl senti-
ments,
•■J. L. GEROME
//// i.\/> iroxA's (>/ // i.\ l£oa g£r6mi-. 255
Two other superb canvases, finished this year for a personal friend ol the
artist, Mr. Elbridge T. Gerry, of New York, were L'Entrie tin Taureau and l.a
Terrasse </// Serail, which are ranked by Gerome as two oi Ins best works.
They are certainly triumphs of color, pose, and light; never has the master
displayed to better advantage in small figures his inimitable draughtsmanship
than m the lithe, well-knit bodies ol the toreadors m the firel picture and the
11I tonus of the harem beauties m the second, which presents a faithful
reproduction ol the interior ol the Did Palace at Constantinople.
In lln-> same yeai Gerfime, who was then at work on the statue ol Omphale,
conceived the idea ol reproducing on canvas the unfinished figure as it looked
at the close oi the day's labor, He has produced a most effective seem
The End of the Siance, showing his model flinging wet cloths oxer tin- statue
to keep the clay from drying, while the sculptor himsell bends ovei a pail
of water and wrings out the linen bandages, The contours ami posi oi the
model are replete with grace, delicacy, and strength, and the- arrested action
is startling in its realism. The posture ol the artist also is eminently novel
and interesting. \l the Salon ol [887 appeared Omphale, ol whose he.iulv
we have alrc.idv iildeavorcd lo give some idea \lasson writes ol this e.Xipil
site creation ; "Heroine has found also m sculpture that which he has so long
sought for and found in painting beauty and grace. He himsell has bestowed
the informing idea." Placed in the garden ol the Palais de I' Industrie, its
charm was heightened by the near neighborhood of that terrible and power-
ful group entitled The Gorilla, executed l>\ 1. clonics intimate friend Fremiet,
who this year obtained the Medal oi Honor.
Although the master had seriously undermined his health by unintei
rupted labor, having worked on the Omphale main days from seven in the
morning till eleven at night, he did not permit himsell ,m\ rest, and this ve.n
he produced also two remarkable and very finished canvases. The Carpet
Merchant and The Rose, both ol which were immediately acquired lor American
collections, where, indeed, the greatei numbei ol his masterpieces maj be found
to-day, In letters to a friend, received during tin- autumn and winter ol 1887
and 1888, there is the same record oi unremitting toil, betraying in and between
the lines the unflagging energy ol this man ol indomitable will, under the
most trying circumstances of mental and physical suffering. Even when he
refers to his own cares and anxieties, there is no trace of egotism, and Ins
generous heart, burdened b\ personal griefs, interests itsell lor tin- poor and
needy, the sick and suffering, he they in want ol succor and comfort tor bod}
01 soul. To divert then minds, he forces himself often to he gay. Always
inspiring, always uplifting, he leads the way by precepl and practice, in the
Struggle toward the ideal. We translate several passages from these letters
///•/ \ND WORKS Of // IX L&ON G&ROMI
in i ho hope of stimulating the ambition of students and workers in every sphere
ni usefulness, and encouraging them to accomplish truly serious and conscien-
tious work, whatever the difficulties and drawbacks of their environment.
In May, 1887, writing of a young artist in whom be had expressed a deep
interest, he says ;
" I had ad\ised ynmy I'— not to ^o to Spam, but to remain here in order
to study seriously. 1 regrel that he did not listen to me, so much the more since
I learn by your letter of his unfortunate journey. It is money, and above all,
time lost. I am much pleased to know thai be is busy, and trust his work is
serious, with an eye to his future. When he decides to return to Paris, you may
rest assured thai 1 will interest myself to the utmost to serve him and to be
useful to him in every possible way. 1 regrel thai he did not long since carry
out his intention of returning to France. Ii is here thai one finds all thai one
needs in order to pursue truly austere Studies, which re-echo through the entire
career oi an artist lor l^ooiI principles inculcated in a young mind arc never
, f/,h I'll. "
In June, he writes from Bougival :
" I am m my atelier in the country, working in the open air, getting ready for
the winter. I endeavor to console myself by incessant labor lor the misfortune
which has befallen me and which always weighs heavily upon me To
amuse you a little. I send you a bit of verse that 1 have made about the sketch 1
had the honor to show you the last time you came to my atelier.
" I l SPR1 1 II LA BET!
" l.e i'oete est assis mollement sur la grfrve,
A l'lieure 011 le soleil va se COUCher ; il reve.
I. a Muse la touchc ; la Muse lui fait voir
Tons les Dieux de la Mer, comme dans un miroir.
Emergeanl de l'6cume, e'est Venus Astarte,
1'ivoi lecond, sur qui tourne l'humanitc .
Neptune, sur son char an cavalles humides.
Les Tritons, les Dauphins, les blanches Neriides;
l.e ( yclope, an repos sur les monts sourcilleux,
Icarc. deplunu . lombant du haul descicuv
Les Sirenes perfides, /'/"/, gardanl ses phoques,
Glaucus, Melicerte, el les monstres baroques ;
Le vieua V&rie, la tfete ceinte du nenuphar,
El Phoebus, dans les Sots precipitanl sun char.
11 n'esl d< |.i pin-, jour, il n'esi pas encore nuit,
I „i \ mi m s'efface, li rfive se finit !
I.es Dieux out disparu, pour ne plus se montrer;
■ /// .' f'ai grand /aim.' dit V Homme — ' il est temps tie rentrer ' '
LIFE AND WORKS OF It l\ LEON c/.AOUl
-57
The sense of the ridiculous and love oi abrupl contrast which are to be found
in many of the master's paintings crop oul in the last line oi iliis impromptu
"Envoi" which reminds one oi Heine, in its unexpected denoument,
In September, he writes :
"I am very much behindhand forgive me. For some time I have been
greatly oppressed with sorrow and melanchol) ,1 sorl ol no talgia 1 have no
courage to do anything, and il<> nol like to burden others with my weaknesses.
.... I have just returned from a short journey
tn the shores of the Mediterranean, where I made
some similes oi the sea which I need lor a picture
I .mi painting. Ami here I .im again installed
m Paris, preparing work lor the winter -for it is
work alone which satisfies the mind ami consoles the
heart One cannot, in the course oi .1 day,
entireh re-create one's self. Mill, one must not l.iMx
Succumb, hul resist to the Utmost : nol yield without
a struggle, hut always seek to regain lull self-possession,
flii spirit should always dominate the flesh. . . .
shall send you some photographic reproductions
some oi my paintings and will keep you posted in regard
to my future work."
In 1 )ctober, he writ< s
" 1 have just sent von a collection ot photographs
ol some ot my pictures. I hope you will like them. In
any e\ent. 1 shall esteem mysell happy it >(iu will
receive them favorably and occasionally glance at
them 1 have begun again to work with frenzy,
in forgel my griei and melancholy. Since I had the
ire oi seeing you 1 bave finished several pictures
which bave gone to your country, and 1 have begun
1 others which will probably follow the same route. I also have a mind
to model another figure in order not to lose time during tin months ot
November and December, when the light is too poor to paint, but sufficient
in model in claw"
In November, he writes :
" We are having days so gloom) thai one might imagine one's sell in Eng-
land, and it is almost impossible to work. Nevertheless. I keep at it desperately,
and expect lo fight on to my last breath .'
In December, 1 SS7 :
"Your letter just received. I hasten In reply. You are ,u;iv in^ voursell
100 much trouble lor me; I am not worth it. 1 feai your conversation with
-\v s LIFE l\/> WORKS Of II IX I. fox <;fi;o\li:
the editor oi can have no effect, for journals and reviews often follow
the taste "I the public, instead of directing it, and they are obliged to reflect
tin' opinions of their readers, otherwise their articles would not be read !
And when one is a journalist, one must take eare of the subscribers! As to
this question oi nudity, il is useless to argue about it in your country. Man]
people wdio are not better than others desire to appear so. They are simply
fesuits! The untie, in itself, is not indecent but the manner in which it is
rendered may be SO, through the evil intention which has guided its execution.
\u the Venus of Milo, the Venus oj Medici, etc. , immodest statues? On the
contrary, nothing could be more chaste; and often certain figures, dressed
Mini manner, are more calculated to awaken improper ideas than figures
which are entirely mule.
■•'It is not the nude,' says Diderot, 'that is indecent, it is the retroussi.'
And he was right \s to my method of teaching il is very simple, but
this simplicity is the result oi long experience. The question is to lead young
people into a Straightforward, true path ; to provide them with a compass
which will keep them from going astrav . to habituate them to love Nature
(the true), and to regard it with an eye at once intelligent, delicate, and firm,
heme, mindful also of the plastic side. Some know how to copy a thing and
will reproduce it almost exactly; others put into it poetry, charm, power, and
make oi il a work oi ail. The first are workmen, the second are artists. An
abyss separates the mason from the architect/ To-day, in this epoch oi moral
and intellectual disorder, there seems to be a sovereign contempt tor those
who seek to elevate themselves. to move the spectator, to have some imagina-
tion : lor those who are not content to remain lettered to the earth, dabbling
m the mud of realism ! It is to-day the fashion, to which all the world sacri-
fices, because il is only granted to a tew to have a welbbalanced mind, and
because il is easier to paint three fried eggs than it is to execute the ceiling
of the Sisttne Chapel ' But all this will pass like a shadowy phantom, and
it need not make us uneasy. As Latnartine savs;
■ l.e cygne qui s'envole aux voutes eternelles,
Amis, s'informe-t-il si ['ombre de ses ailes,
I'lotle encore sur nil v il gazon ?'
I Does the swan who wine;s his Bight toward the eternal v. mils, question
whether the shadow of his wings still floats o'er the sward below ?]
"The method of instruction should above all lend to protect the young mind
from the influx of these paltry sentiments, which, having generated here, have
crossed the Atlantic, and are in a fair way to infect America. 1 claim the
honor oi having waged war against these tendencies, and shall continue to
combat them, but what can one do against the current' A young painter, who
begins his career, has need oi great Strength of soul not to be swept away by
it. and even those who resisl cannot entirely ascend against these rapids,
but suffer in a certain measure from their influence. Net I am far from being
a retardataire, an exclusive, and I have always loved all experiment, all effort,
//// AND //CAA.s 01 II \.\ I l-.o.\ GEROMl 259
in whatever direction; these indicate in a countrj a fore oj • tpansion. I love
movement, foi movement is life. Only, these revolutions should be made by
people oi talent, who have understanding ;m<l knowledge, and 1 must Bay thai
many painters of the modern school, the impressionists, the plein-air-isU . the
independents, etc., are more ot less fumistes, some oi them humbugs, and some,
ignorant as carps' To-day, when a work is insipid and badly executed badl)
drawn, badly painted, and stupid beyond expression it stands a good chance
of being a success, since ii is on </ level with those who admire it! To-day when
one walks through the halls oi the Exposition at Tans, one is struck first by the
great number of works produced works which often have not cost their authors
any great pains in any respect, cither as to subject or execution, The Common-
plan is in honor, and Poetry has Bed to the skies! Will she ever descend
again ?"
Later he sa\ s
"I send you, with this, a letter written some time ago apropos oi the thirty
per cent, duty placed on works oi art on then entry into the United Stales
ol America. Ii has been printed in some American journal, I do not know
which one. Thanks lor all the trouble yon take lor me, ol which I am un-
worthy "
■•.... In writing these reflections on the subject ol the thirty per cent,
duty imposed on foreign works of art on then entry into the United State-.. I
regrel that I am nil oi American nationality . lor. being a Frenchman and
suffering from this measure, my opinion may nol appeal disinterested. It is
none the les> m>. however, lor I am accustomed, when I have to pronounce
judgment, to eliminate my personality. I will give you, then, my views in all
frankness, without prejudice, with entire freedom.
"What is the object of this measure' What will he the result? Will it
enrich the Treasury? Will it benefit American painters'.' The reply to these
last two questions can only he negative. In the immense revenue ol the United
the sum gained by ibis entry-tax on paintings, whose number will
inevitably he diminished by this species of prohibition, will he as a drop oi
water in the sea, and your vast country, so rich through it-- agricultural and
industrial products, will make hut a lew dollars more. As to the sale ol the
works of indigenous painters, it will he no more and no le>s active than in the
past ; ii they are good, they will find purchasers, lor the taste ot Americans is
already singularly well cultivated, and they only seek works ol art desirable on
account of their invention and good execution, without troubling themselves
as lo the nationality ol 1 1 n authors. If the winks are bad, they will inevitably
remain on the hands ol the producers, and this will he just ! Those who buy
works of art are generally rich people, who sensiblj prefei to pa) well lor a g I
picture, than to buy cheaply a canvas which they would scorn lo hang on the
walls of their houses beside a masterpiece acquired elsewhere. These two points
seem to me clear : the object has no reason /or existing, the result is null and void.
There is a moral side to this matter, which I would like to emphasize, and which
26o llll \ND WORKS ol II i\ iio\ G&R&ME.
seems to me nol withoul importance, tiamelj i thai u is in France and in Gi i
many thai man) young American artists have received their instruction; we
have given them their education gratuitously; the} have been treated like native
pupils in "in State Schools. It is then to foreigners thai they owe whal the}
know, and withoul these foreigners there would have been neither painters nor
sculptors in the United States. Is ii just to treal the productions oi thi -• fo
artists and teachers with so great a severity? Is there nol a little ingratitudi in
this kind "I ostracism } I know well thai ii is said ' N I no gratitude-
ire onlj for their own interests.' Perhaps this is true in .nn case, this is
nol to their credit, and I regrel ii above all in this special case, where theii
interests are so ver) badly comprehended.
" A1 the time oi th< announcemenl oi tin-- custom-house law, which, let ib
confess, is a trifle uncn ilized, there was great agitation among the artists in Paris.
In order to consull as to whal was to be done, I called together an assemblj' oi
French and American painters al my house and, 1 musl saw th m taken 1>\
the latter was eminently correcl and irreproachable. They were almosl as dis-
contented as we were, and they proved it bj theii | ddressed to the
Congress oi the United States, a petition whose tenor bore witness to their
gi ititude to us. and their regrel al the adoption oi a measure which dai
iously. They recognized clearly their obligation to us; that we
had treated them well in every respecl ; thai they had been admitted ti
Vcadi m\ "I Fine Arts on the same terms as our French pupils ; that they < n
the same privileges al our Annua] Expositions as our native exhibitors ; thai they
wards when they merited them, and gi s al the Salon when
they were worth) ol them ' Why were we, then, thanked for our kind services
li\ such lion-like proceedings?
"In short we have onl) praise foi these young people in regard to this
matter, and I desire to repeal loudly, so thai no one may be ignorant oi it
they all employed everj possible means to indue Con ress to repeal so mi-
lk .1 law ; thee did not succeed, bul this lack oi success cannol bi
[aid a1 theii door' It gives me the more pleasure to bear Uns testimony, in
thai certain contrary rumors have been put in circulation. 1 had it al heart
to deny them ; il is done !
" In all countries in Europe, works of art are entered tree of duty ; this sys-
tem oi n on prohibition has already been fruitful in results, Ii is by this means
thai different Schools oi Painting, Architecture, and Sculpture have been fo
in Germany, in Italy, in France, in Belgium, in Spain. It is the study oi the
works ol then predecessors that has developed the men of genius who are the
glorj oi theii country. It is only alter protracted efforts that a nation sua
in establishing serious Schools of Art. It is little by little thai the sentiment
i nly is in I used into a people, as a result ol an education which is the work "I
time and ol the beautiful and good creations placed before its eyes. What would
be worth more than a. prohibitory tax, to America which has no past, would
be measures favoring the entry ol paintings, statues, etc., which would permit
individuals t<> form private collections, and cities to |„,s-.cs- public museums'
/.//■/ AND WORKS Of fEAA LfiOA GEROME, 263
"One day 11 will be said li was at the end of the nineteenth century, in
the full expansion of civilization, thai there arose a strange, incomprehensible
idea of classing the productions of the mind with sardines in oil and smoked
ham' In all countries works ol arl were free from duly in all save one,
whore they were burdened with an exorbitant import-tax by the youngest,
the greatest, the richest ol nations!'"
This eloquent protesl needs no comment . its trenchant justice must be
apparent toe\er\ one who has thoughtfully considered this subject. Hut when
we remember the almost superhuman efforts that were needed to overcome the
obtuseness and obstinacy of our law-makers, who disgraced the nation foi years
by their repeated rejection ol a law to repress i he- 1 1 and enforce common honesty
in the matter of International Copyrighl we despair oi opening their eyes to
perceive this lesser but still humiliating blot on the American escutcheon. Until
it. also, is wholly effaced, those who were onee our warm allies and admirers may
rightfully accuse us of injustice and ingratitude
Arriving again in Loudon m the early spring ol 1888, the master's corre-
spondent found a letter <>i welcome in whicb be writes: " You Americans are
intrepid travelers. I admire the courage ol your mother wdio. at the age ol
sixty-nine, bas crossed the ocean with you. As tor me. I bave not left my
easel since I saw von. save for that one little trip to the Mediterranean, where
1 went to make some studies of the sea tor the picture which 1 have al the
Exposition. 1 am well, only a little tired by the steady work ol the winter, and
I really need a little rest, hut I have no /inn /or it .' "
The painting relet red to as at the Salon ol i.sss, was ///, Poet's Dream, which
the artist himself has so charmingly sketched in the impromptu verses previously
quoted. We find the following description in a Tarts art journal :
" A deserted strand on the coast oi Greece In the distance, emerging from
the depths oi the sea. two roeky islets whose Steep sides are colored by the setting
sun with tints ol sapphire and amethyst. The poet, clad m la dernier e mode oi
1X04. top-boots, brown coat with metal buttons, white necktie and lace cuffs, is
reclining on the sands while lu- dreams, contemplating the infinite heavens and
the boundless sea . his Muse, draped in green, crowned with laurel and carrying a
lyre ol ivory, arises behind him and gently touches him. Immediately the hosts
ol Poseidon become visible to him. The Nereids he upon the sand ; the Tritons
blow into their shells; the three Sirens. I'artheilope, Ily^eia. and l.eukosia.
advance singing ; Aphrodite surges up on a jet of loam, and from each hitler drop
that falls from her tresses a Cupid is born ' There is already a veritable swarm
hovering around thegoddessl Seated upon a rock, old Proteus guards his herd
ot prophetic seals. Further off, Phoebus skims the liquid plain with his chariot
drawn by horses, as light as the halcyon breeze and as swill as the tempest.
Arion is borne away on the back of bis tuneful dolphin, and learns, stripped of
his wings, tails from heaven into tin gull below."
-''' I
///■/■ l\P WORKS 01 II IX I !t>.\ G&RdMl
This was nol the only exhibit < > t the master. War by hung a small
canvas with one solitar) Bgure, which, however, impressed the observer with a
sense of illimitable space and concentrated vitality. Ii was entitled Thirst, and
was described in the London Athetxeum as follows:
" A grand desert scene, charged with a whitish glare ; the blank brilliancy of
torrid noon dominating a wasti ol sun-blanched sand and stones. The desert
extends nearh to the horizon, where a group of palms and other trees forms one
long line, and beyond that a dim
purple range oi mountain-tops
looms in the air. The effect is
stereos i >pic, and the atmosphere
perfect^ painted. Near the from
are a few shallow pools, at one of
which a huge lion laps the water
in an ecstasy ol tlmst well ex-
pressed by the design of the animal.
His haunches are drawn up, his
tail is . stended straight along the
sand, and his inane drops forward
as he drinks."
It is needless to say that these
chefs-d'oeuvre found immediate pur-
chasers, the first passing into the
alread} rich collection oi thi I
Oi Russia.
tnrome also exhibited this
same season, at the Royal Academy
in London, a Negro, draped in a
rose-colored burnous, on a back-
ground oi blue faience; at Copen-
hagen, Le Hatnmam Vapeur sic he, which obtained for him a royal decoration,
and in Moscow, the Vapeur hutnide ; in addition to which he had finished three
other canvases, respectivelj entitled: ./ /:<////. Woman Bathing her Feet, and
ili, \wakening, Each one is a masterpiece in which the artist seems to
surpassed all his previous achievements, especially of modeling and flesh tints.
\\ ords can give no idea of the marvels of texture and coloring, the effects of light
and vapor, the solidity and grace assembled in each of these canvases. The
contrast between the flesh tone in the Vapeur sec he, where the bod] is ros] from
the exertion oi the hath and massage, and the warm brunette hues ot Thi
ning, where the half-roused beaut) shp> from the conch to her knees,
stretching her exquisite arms luxuriously above her head shows G6r6me's
tana<;i;a
1890
LIFE \ND WORKS OF // m LEOA GER0m1 265
absolute master} oi the most subtle secrets oi color. We should but multiply
adjectives in endeavoring t<> give an adequate description of these latei winks.
the skill revealed in i hem amazing even those who are best acquainted with his
work and have followed him step by step
In the midst of his absorbing occupations, G6r6me was ever ready to respond
to almost daily appeals for advice and help. President and member of many
different societies, he was prompt and punctilious in the fulfillment oi hiso
duties. His private charities were
innumerable, and of him it could
be said truly that Ins right hand
knew nothing oi the generosity
nt the left. W hen chance laid
before him an opportunitj tor a
good aet ion. he never evaded it,
though it might cost him infinite
trouble and annoyance. How
many poor smtls has he saved
from the destitution and misery
that, in a great city, result too
often in crime! He would not
only give liln-r.ilh oi his money,
and. treasure oi inestimable value,
his time, but would take the
greatest trouble to interest his
friends for his needy proti
The following brief notes furnish
an outline of but one of many
instances that have come under
the writer's personal notice:
" 1 send yon a letter from
Mme. la Baronne Salomon de Rolhsehilil. with some money lor our poor
protig&e. Have her write a line of thanks. I am writing myself, but that
is not sufficient."
And again, "Translate as soon as possible into French the certificates oi
our protdgde and have them stamped at the Consulate oi - — . For, ii we find
her a situation, this is indispensable." It is almost needless 10 s,i\ thai the
situation was found.
One bitterly cold and Stormy day we entered the atelier, where he was
coughing heavily. Knowing that he was one "i a few guests invited to n
onage oi high degree who was passing through the city, we expressed out
266
LIFE AND WORKS Ol // I \ LEOA GER0ME.
concern thai he should expose himsell in such unfavorable weather. " I have
jusl sent a regret," replied the master. " I am not well and should be Mire to
lake more cold, and i hen I could not talk to my children at the fecole des Beaux-
Arts to-morrow." While lie was speaking, there came a timid knock at the door.
A mill, prematurely aged, haggard, and illy clad, entered the atelier. He hesi-
tatingly addressed the master, who greeted him with marked warmth and. after
a lew minutes' murmured conversation, said, "I will come immediately." With
.1 look ol gratitude, the man bowed low and left the room. Pulling on bis great-
coat, tn mine continued, " You must excuse me. I shall probably not return till
late. lie lives at Belleville. It is one of mv old pupils who is in trouble, pool
de\ il. he will never do anything ' I must e,o and si e how I can help him."
" Hut your eold ! " w e remonsl i ated
" I musl risk U ; he needs me,
" Mm vim :^,i\ e up the reception
" They did not need me ' "
\nd the Ecole to-morrow ?"
" The boys must endure my growl '/"
" You will al leasl lake \nm lneaklast ?"
" I have no time he is waiting ' I am off u bientdt f "
The concierge told us, the nexl da)', thai Gerdme returned late in the after-
noon, utterly exhausted, having eaten nothing all day, and thai he had gone
i" bed with a violenl chill. "He went oul to the fccole tliis morning at
half-pasl seven, all the same, added Thomas. "He would go there it he
were dying ! "
We were at work in the studio when the master came in, pale and fagged,
and. aftet lecturing two hours unable to speak above a whispi
What about your old pupil?" we asked, while he was preparing his palette.
"Ah, mon Dieu ! he needed me badly enough ; he was painting a Venus, a
Venus of the Ratignolles ! It was frightful.'" A look ol profound commisera-
tion o\ erspread his i
Was thai all?"
"Oh, no ! Ihe\ had no lire, no clothes, nothing to eat ' thai was soon rem-
edied ' Uui thai Venus, nothing could ever remedy that ! " And from time to
time during tin- day, the master paused in his wank and. overcome by the remem-
brance, sighed, " Oh, Unit Venus ! it was frightful!
Wearied by his toil, and worn b\ an\iet\ lor a member ol the family who
for some time had been seruuish ill, Ger6me accompanied his household, in July
ol i.sss. io one of their summer residences, in Calvados. Hut even here he did
not become an idler. From St. Martin aux Chartrains, near Ponl 1'Eveque, he-
pens the following characteristii lettei to a friend:
///■/• \ND WORKS Of II \\ llo\ (,/, jii;
"I had hoped t<> send you in this letter a little sunshine, for during the last
two days the weather has been very fine, and I had begun to work in the open
air ; but 1 have been forced t<> follow the caprices of the barometer, and retreal
indoors, for the wind has turned to the southwesl and il has rained all night.
Su I am compelled to begin something else that I can paint in the house. I am
the more annoyed by the bad weather, because all m\ children are here and
we can neither ride nor walk, which is a pity, for the countr} is superb, a
veritable garden too well watered just now ' I wrote you to Bella Vista. Did
you receive the letter, which arrived possibly alter your departure? The bad
news of the health oi your mothei has grieved me deeply, and I hope that by
the time you receive this letter she will be much better. I wish it with all my
heart. ! kno'w too well the anguish one endure-, beside a beloved invalid, and
1 pity am one who is in this sail situation li is unfortunate thai you cannol
work, for work is the grand remedy for all evils, a way oj escape from all grit />
Happily 1 am still in sufficiently good health not to be condemned to inaction,
or 1 should be the most miserable o1 mortals! You are wrong to read so much.
when your eyes are not in good condition. 'The eye is an instrument that
must be taken care of, since we can do nothing without it. Repose is often the
best medicine lor this organ. Take care also oi the spirit, the soul: ]><> noi
let yoursell be disturbed. One must always react, regain lull self-possession,
not allow one's sell to be led , A always master!
Later in August, "Rain, rain, always raining! What abominable
weather! Soon 1 shall have to dress m a diving-suit in order to go out at all. I
am sitting before my cam as as stupid as a goose, unable to work. Decidedly I
must make an ellorl to get a fresh start '
Later still in August
"1 have received the proofs von sent me. and, in accordance with your
suggestion, have written Mr ITaser, Kivny him some advice as to changes in
productions. I've made up my mind to come back to Paris at the end ol
this month. The weather has been wretched here all the tune and I have
scarcely been able to work, and that very badly/ Just now I am making a
Study ot a horse, and this animal won't --land still a second ' I fear I shall be
obliged to give it up, which would annoy me v erv much, as I need it."
On his return to Tans, tierome devoted himsel! lo his magnum OpUS, the
Tanagra, which electrified the world at the Salon oi 1890. \t the same time
he worked on tin- Trumpeter, which represented one ol the musicians who were
wont to head the procession of gladiators, as they marched around the arena
before engaging in the deadly struggle. This figure, casl in the bronze, is a
mosl astonishing anatomical Study. The inflation of the cheeks, the contrac-
tion of the chest, the tension of the muscles in the limbs, the sturdy planting
ol (he feet, as he marches carrying his might} tuba, combine to produce a mosl
268 //// \ND WORKS 01 H M ii<>\ i./hi'Mi
realistic as well as thoroughly artistic work. Nut content with having two
models al work, one posing while the other rested, in their respective ateliers,
the master began with a third, for the exquisite Head q/ Diana, which was fin-
ished aboul the same time as the Trumpeter. He went from one to the other
his models often exhausted, he never pausing for rest' 'The Diana was east
in dead silver bronze, a highl) burnished crescenl m<»>n forming an admirable
background for the lovely head.
His joyous labor was interrupted by the sudden death of the artist Boulan-
ger, which affected him mosl seriously; stunned for days into inaction, he
eventuallj Sung himself into Ins work with a feverish energy thai evidently
sought to stifle sorrow and leave no time for vain regret. His nun health
visibly failing, his friends besought him to tak< absolute repose. Bui the
answer, hall-sad. half-smiling, was invariably the same: " I have no time!"
adding mere than <>nce, " It is my turn next and I must finish the Tanagra In si !"
Hut even his busy ami dexterous hands could not keep pace with the concep-
tions that thronged his brain, imperiously demanding form and expression on
canvas, or. still more satisfying to his inmost desire, m the clay, alterwaid to
he firmly fixed in bronze or marble. We well remember standing in the inner
atelier, in the early twilighl of a winter evening, and looking at the half-finished
Tanagra which Gerfime had unswathed to show us his progress. At her feet
a mass oi clay which the porter had just broughl tor the next day's
work. Suddenly seizing a double -hand! ul. the master looked at it as one
ds a beloved friend, and cried. "Ah' the beautiful earth!" with such a
fervor of tenderness, that it seemed impossible the senseless clay should not
have thrilled into instant and sentient being, under the vivifying touch of this
Nineteenth Century Pygmalion !
But the artist forced himself to reserve the brightest days lor painting,
ami. as a change from the figures he was modeling, he again returned to the
desert and his much loved lions.
Before the New Near. Solitude, a scene representing a majestic lion.
couchant and gazing into space, was finished. The mysterious charm of this
picture, even greater than that of Les Deux Majestes, has been felt by all who
have seen it. Al the same time foul 01 live other paintings were on different
easels and the master passed from one to the other, working Willi a sure. In in
touch and incredible rapidity; never confused, carrying out the design that
had been absolutely finished in Ins mmd before i he scene was sketched upon
the canvas. To study these and watch their gradual completion was an absorb-
ing and enjoyable occupation. One o\ the most fascinating was the lion
prowling on the shores nl the Red Sea, Qu&rens quern devoret, tor which Gerdme
made the sketch, as our readers will remember, when camping with Lenoir
I. Ill- AND WORKS Oh //■:.!. V L&ON G&RdMl .'71
by the Gulf dI Akabah, on the Red Sea. The fleecy clouds pile up and mell
awa) toward the horizon, while, through the haze, one perceives alluring paths
leading up from height to height upon the mountain. At its base, masses
dI rock in warm tones ol brown, and drifts ol yellow sand, reach to the water's
edge. The lion, with lowered head and eye intent, powerful, subtle, alert,
steps softly yet firmly, bis shadow sharply projected on the ston) beach,
where waves of a deep yet tender green break in delicate foam This canvas,
absolutely flawless in idea and execution, was finished in the early summer
hi insu. and, we believe, immediately found an American purchaser, Spring-
time in Arabia, the lioness rolling among the flowers, which has been already
described, was exhibited in the spring of 1890 .h the Cercle Artistique in Paris
A remarkable painting, the background oi which never satisfied the artist, and
which he altered frequently, represented Vegroes Carrying Home <i Dead Lion.
The absolute lifelessness ol the great beast, suspended, limp and inanimate,
mi the shoulders ot the savages who stagger under its weight, is expressed
with surprising verity. Among others were The Love Letter, in which Cupid
guides the hand ol a charming young girl ; Cupid and the Vestal, who blushes
m her sleep under the potent gaze ol Love, who lilts her veil . Inacreon and
Cupid, in three scenes: Anacreon warming the wet and shivering god, who has
begged him for shelter; Anacreon pierced to the heart by an arrow from the
quiver ol the ungrateful and fleeing traitor, and Anacreon aged and brut,
beholding in the embers of the smoldering fire the roguish, tantalizing features
ot the fickle Love ol his early youth ' ./ Lion Pursuing Antelope, leaping in the
air in his endeavoi to reach the last straggler in the fleeing herd, and another
lion snapping at a troublesome wasp.
The political agitation oi the winter oi 1889 occasioned some spirited discus-
sions in the atelier, and. contrary to his custom, G6r6me allowed himseli to be
interviewed concerning the elections that seemed pregnant with dangei to his
beloved France. In reply to the question, "Ought we, in the interests oi the
country, to vote for General Boulanger?" he wrote as follows
"To speak truly, I know nothing about it. but I think, No.' I tear that
those who vote foi the General in order to strangle the Republic, will send
us from the 'frying-pan into the lire. As for me, I shall vote neither for him
nor for Jacques.
"Genera] Boulanger has denied his signature, on the tribune; he is sur-
rounded bv people of \ erv bad repulal ion. and he inspires me with no confidence
in the future.
Monsieur [acques is perhaps a good man . I do not know, lor I have never
heard him spoken of Hut I mistrust him, lor he represents the Communists,
thai is 10 say, incendiarism and assassination !
-7- rill iX/> WORKS OI Ji i\ c£OA i, I a; nil
" I shall vote for Pasteur, in the hope thai he will cure us of the political
madness which, since the advenl oi the Republic, has deranged our country!
" Paris, 24th January, 1880. J. L. GER6ME."
This characteristic letter was published in /.< Matin and aroused considerable
attention l>\ its briei bul trenchanl exposition of the real situation. As a matter
oi fact, G6r6rae did actually vote for Pasteur, for we happened to be in the atelier
"ii the morning oi the elections.
and can testify that he went.
in company with the sculptor
Fremiet, to deposit his vote for
the greal specialist '
I hi master. 111 spite of per-
sistent entreaties, declined to
send an exhihit to the Universal
Exposition of 1889, on the
ground that all of his later
works were so widely scattered
— from Russia to America -that
it would be impossible to re-
unite them. The owners were
reluctant to risk them, and the
artist did not insist. Hut he
pted a position on the jury,
and faithfully discharged his
onerous and fatiguing functions.
To tile Salon oJ [889, liou -
ever, he sent Love, the Con-
queror, an admirable canvas.
lull ot poetry and strength, representing the all-powerful god of Love enter-
ing .1 cage lull of wild beasts, who at Ins advent begin to roar "as gently as
am sucking dove." There is a look of surprise and respect for his daring on the
dignified features ot Hie African lion, and into 1 he eyes oi a fierce lioness si
strange tenderness ; a magnificent Bengal tiger rolls upon Ins hack asii wooing
the beautiful child to join in Ins gambols, and a treacherous black panther.
utterly subdued, lengthens out its lithe form and protrudes its red tongue to lick
tint] ban feet! Among these superbl} drawn animals is a spotted jaguar,
with glittering green eyes, who approaches with stealthy tread but does not
attempt to attack this universal conqueror. Confident of Ins power, the lovely
bo) smiles at one and all, and fully justifies the quaint couplet ol the sagacious
II II. AND WORKS OF fEAN
»73
Voltaire which underlines the canvas: "Qui que tu sots, void ton maitrel //
Vest, te ////. on le doit itret " (Whoever thou art, behold thy master ' He is, he
u as 01 should be !)
Ai the Cercle Artistique hung the Qucerens quern devoret&nd a Hunting Scene
in the /'ores/ of Meudon, a chai tning landscape, I be cenl ral figure "l which is i be
hospitable friend oxer whose preserves
(lerome shoots regularly, twice
week, during the season.
I !i other figtlres are also portraits
of well-known Parisians, among them
irtisl himself. The smoke drifts
away among the almost leafless
the trophies of the day's spoil
are laid in comely rows upon the
ground, while down the avenue come
the gamekeepers with hands well
filled, to add to the collection. It is a
genial, attractive scene, worthy oi our
best landscapists and possessing an
unusual feature in the masterly draw-
ing of men and dogs.
The Universal Exposition oi
brought all the world to Paris, and
many were the visits we made to the
atelier to present friends to the
mastet Americans. English, Swedes,
Norwegians, Italians, Germans, and
[apanes ' 1 1 i ceived them all with his nm at j ing
and though his official duties on the jury made th<
precious, he never allowed In-- visitors to feel that then coming was inapropos
or that he would prefet i" abridge their stay. The effort to make up for
time lost through innumerable and unavoidable interruptions told seriou lj on
his health, hut in spite of constant suffering and increasing weakness, he
persisted m the performance ol many Wearisome duties entailed upon lnni l>\
his artistic and social position. In a n In d July, [889, he writl
" I am greatly grieved to learn that you are again ill. I praj foi yourprompt
ry. I too am sick, having taken a seven cold >i thi 1 po ition, and
for three clays 1 have been very miserable Who troubles me most is.
that to-morrow, in spin- oi my wretched state, I must absolutelj
the Palais des Champs-Elys6es, where in\ presence ma} be useful to certain
ami e v [UlSlte C< >m lc-.\ .
time lor work doiilih
274 I'll WD WORKS (>/■ // IX no. \ GiRdME
pupil-- nl mine who are competing for the traveling purses. I wish your
dear mother a bon voyage .' "
Attendance at this meeting, where he interested himsell beyond his strength
in lull, ill ol In-- pupils, seriously aggravated Ins condition, and a violenl fever
suddenly reduced him to a dangerous state of prostration. To a friend, then in
London, who was greatl} alarmed by the rumors thai crossed the Channel, he
penned with feeble hand the following lines:
"Your good letter, which has <Uvpl\ touched me, tins moment received.
I reply at once, hoping mine ma} find you in g 1 bealth both of body and soul.
Do not be anxious about me. The erisis lias passed, and I am better. I shall yet
be able to put .a bide color on canvas or scratch a bil of marble ! . . . . [t is a
Ion- time since I retired into my tent, desillusionni as to men. women, and things.
Youth has passed il/aut Stre philosophe / Not regrel too keenly what i
and thank Nature tor what she leaves us. In spite ot everything, there still
remain to me precious things tin- enthusiasm ol youth and love lor art ! I
would like, before passing to a better world, to create in sculpture a seri
works equal to those | have made in painting. 1 have always sufficient courage,
and. it my health dors not lail me, 1 do not despair ol accomplishing this. Work-
is ///, -,./, consolation ol old age I Happy those who are able to devote
themseh es to it."
In all his stress oi suffering he always had a thought lor those who depended
on him. He forgot no one, he neglected nothing, however seemingly trivial, as
we have seen by these fragments ol correspondence. He sent a cheery message
lure, a feebly-scrawled line there, exhorting all to patience, courage, perse-
verance, self-possession, and above all. to unflagging industry. It was his
sovereign cure lor all ills! I lis indomitable spirit, which he bad trained to
rule his body, asserted itself now. He looked at the work that crowded three
ateliers, and said to himself."/ must finish this." Thanks to a temperance
ot living, in every respect, which bordered on abstemiousness, there remained to
this youthful veteran an astonishing recuperative power. Hut there was no
doubt, in tlu- minds of the lew friends who saw him daily during this anxious
time, that his determination to get well was the duel factor in his recovery,
winch was as surprising as his illness had been sudden ami severe.
He wanked much at Bougival, on the roof ol Ins summer atelier, which was
arranged so that the trees and shrubbery inclosed and sheltered it from curious
eyes, enabling him to pose his model in the open air and obtain wonderful
atmospheric effects. A , hef-d'auvre painted here this summer is called Bath-
sheba, and represents the beautiful wife of Uriah the Ilitlile. bathing on the ter-
race-roof ol her house. This figure is a marvel of plastic grace and delicate
flesh-tints, ami the effects of light are equall) amazing.
///•/ IJVJD WORKS Ol JI.W llo\ <,//.<M// 275
In August, he writes
"I did not receive your letter till lasl evening, and attributed youi non-
appearance al the atelier to the bad weather. I am sorry to know thai you an
again suffering with your eyes, and, nol seeing you to-day, fear thej are
no better. Bathe them with hoi tea, as hoi as you can hear it ! and taki 1
care of yourself. 1 have seen Mr. He stayed some time with me, and
we chatted about the Orient. It is twenty years since we met. Mow old
he looks! Bui he probably said the same oi me! which is nol consoling. The
marble has arrived' I am hurrying to finish the little copy in ordei to begin
our hand-to-hand struggle! What ii // should prove the strongest !"
The little COpj tO which he refers is a small replica ol the CEdipe, which
he had consented to make in order to escape from urgenl and persistent
entreaties to sell the original. He made but our alteration, in the pose oi the
horse oi Bonaparte, but more than once while painting on this little canvas
he remarked, " it will be better than the first." This gem has found a home
in England. The marble alluded to was the Tanagra, which had jusl been
brought to his ground-floor atelier on the Rue de Bruzelles, from the workshop
where it had been roughly fashioned from the bloek alter the east. It was
something wondrous to see this ideally beautiful creature slowly emerge from
its chrysalis under the magic touch of the master, typifying thai epoch oi art
which produced the graceful statuettes excavated a few years ago on the site
of the ancient city of Tanagra. Heroine's Tanagra is a life-size female figure,
seated in Egyptian fashion on a rude bloek. the stillness ol this ancient style
relieved by the position ol the arms and feet. The latter are drawn up, one
posed lightly upon the other: the righl arm. turned so that the palm ol the
hand curves to the back, rests upon the block; the Kit. bent al the elbow.
IS extended, and in the palm of the hand is poised a dainty Statuette "I
a dancing-girl, the drapery flying around the exquisitely molded form, the
iiead bent to look through a hoop, grasped lightly hut firmly. Serene, far-
seeing eyes, shadowed by waves oi rippling hair, look out from the purely
Grecian face of the /anemia, and seem to demand oi future generations
their verdict as to the beauty ol the lovely figurine she presents for then
inspect ii m
Against the bloek leans a pick, and in the dibris we descry other lovely heads
and arms, revealing a wealth of artistic beauty which still awaits resurrection.
Words fad to describe the dignity of this goddess-like figure, which, though
palpitating with life, still overawes one by the majestic purit} expressed
in every line and contour ol its superb form. With even greater ardor than
attended the creation ol the Omphale, the master worked on this, his Benja-
min, his best-beloved brilliant lights, multiplied by many reflectors, enabling
276 I 111 AND WORKS, ci II .1 \ lli'X cii-cmi
him to labor far into the night. It was always with reluctance thai he quitted
this little atelier for the large studios where many canvases, lon» promised,
awaited completion, and only his rigid conscientiousness prevented him from
turning them all to the wall and abandoning himsell entirely to Ins qrande
passion. Among his latesl paintings Eire / Sentinel, Camels Drinking, Boileau
and Moliere, The Marabout, A Wood-nymph, and Far Niente the latter a fine
old Hon taking his siesta in the desert. \t>i content with these, he wi
ai the same time upon the portraits in marble "l his daughters, reproducing
in each not only the beautiful features, bul a startling, vivid, and expressive
personality. It is small wonder thai the month of Octobei found him again
wearied and exhausted, and drawing heavily upon his reserve strength and
will power, in order to continue all the work he had blocked out. Relying too
much on the vigorous constitution thai had enabled him to rally so remarkably
in the summer, and undeterred by the chilline a and dampness of the ground-
floor atelier, he labored on unceasingly, hopin to finish the Tanagra before
the advenl oi the winter. Asa natural result, he became one of the first victims
oi hi grippe, long before it developed into the epidemic which ravished Paris
perhaps more fatally than any other large citj Making lighl of this attack,
as was his wont, he was soon completely prostrated, and so rapid wa
progress of this mysterious disease, that the cud seemed very near. But this
ardent spirit refused to he quenched! He insisted on being brought out to the
large atelier, where be lay upon the divan and, from time to time, with an
which lelt him pallid and panting, he would seize his sculptor's burin and
work tor a moment upon the bust of his daughter, which was drawn up close
to his couch. He murmured often. "Je veux mourn- en travaillant" (1 wish
to die working), and sometimes, seeing the unconquerable grief and emotion
of the friends who gathered round him, he would look at them reproachfully,
" Wats, qu'est-ce que vous avez Join:'" (Why. what i> the matter with
you ' ) and then, in his inimitable style, he would relate some a mil sine, am
adding, "II faut rire et mourir / " (One should smile and die!) To a friend
w ho was obliged to lea\ e Pat is at tin-, mosl critic. d lime on account ot sudden ill-
ness in the family. In- senl a wool oi encouragement, writing with much diffi-
culty : "The iei. gram you had 1 he goodness to send me has reassured me ; 11
3 with a fortnighl in bed, it will he nothing. This favorable state has.
1 trust, dissipated ill your apprehensions and restored serenity to your troubled
spirit. 1 await the promised letter, and have good hope that it will bring me
still belter new- than that in your very brief dispatch. Arm yourself with
patience. One must meel the accidents of lite with calmness, and face its storms
with tranquillity ; it is the besl way to render one's sell master in critical situa-
tions and to vanquish all difficulties."
LIFE AND works OF // I \ l/(<\ ■./ 279
Contrary to even his own expectations, as he afterward acknowledged, the
master again rallied, though his strength returned bul slowly. This convales-
cence was retarded 1>\ two untoward and almost fatal incidents. The ,^as
escaped during the night from the large stove in the inner atelier and penetrated
to his sleeping-chamber through the open door oi the communicating passage.
Owing to the great height of the rooms, ilus deadly poison was probably so
diffused that its c\ il effects weir diminished and the master's life saved. \\ hile
still weak from 1 h is additional assault, he endeavored, in the dim twilighl ol a
November day. to reach down from a cabinel a bronze vase a late acquisition.
Mis strength failing him. the vase fell, striking his noble forehead, cutting a
deep gash and dabbling his snowy hair with Mood. The wound in itself proved
not very serious, bul the concussion was terrible. These trying and painful
circumstances revealed, to those who were fortunate enough to be near him,
new beauties in this noble nature, whose patient fortitude in suffering taught
a lesson never to be forgotten, The physical distress and pain, though often
extreme, seemed to be nothing as compared with the resulting inability to
work. A little later he writes. " 1 still remain feeble and an;emie. lint think
this condition will soon come to an end ; it troubles me much on account of my
work — one can do nothing well without good health. Good health ami vigoi ol
mind go hand in hand."
Paris was now in the fatal clutches of la grippe, and. barely convalescent
himself, G£r6me resumed his usual habit ot life, adding a daily round ol \imn
to old friends and comrades who had succumbed to the general malad)
Careless of himself, he was unwearied in his eare ot others, and exposing
himself, he reproved them roundly did they fail to submit to the most rigid
precautions! In December he writes to one of them : " I hope von are better
1 was utterly astonished, on going to see von yesterday, lo Imd that
yon hail gone OUl 111 such bitterly cold weather, and at such an hour! Il was
the height of imprudence, and, in this time of epidemic, very dangerous. Send
me a line to reassure me as to your health. 1 am just Starting lor the chase,
and count on finding a letter on my return this evening ! " When assailed 111
turn by the reproaches ot his friends, he laughed, saying, "Vatts save2 que ,,■
suis depuis longtemps 'exempt'.'" adding, with an amused appreciation ol his
own double entendre," Ce <///(■ me sauve, e'est que fe .'■ins plein-air-iste ! "' which
was probably literally tine, though in the bitter winter weather it seemed a
heroic cure.
At this lime he began the portrait in pencil, oi his dear old friends Protais
and Arago, going e\ ery morning, as we have .dread v relati d, to the atelier ot the
first, who was daily becoming more feeble. Arago, however, posed in Heroine's
studio, and one of our most vivid memories is ol our last visit to the atelier.
28o
///■/■. AND WORKS <>/■ //./.v //.ox (,ki;a\ii
where Ger6me, convulsed with merrimenl over his friend's witty sallies, vainly
endeavored to compose himself in order to proceed with his work ; while his
model, without relaxing a line ol Ins imperturbable countenance, increased thi
general hilariu l>\ bursting oul with an eloquent harangue man indescribable
jargon that he termed " Boffaloa-Billa-Engleesha," to the intense delighi ol Ins
only serious auditor, a small American boy, who believed, in good faith, that
this Parisian ol Parisians
was talking pure Choctaw/
In February, 1.S90, the
master writes :
" I will send you short-
ly a proof of the portrait
"t AxagO, and also one ol
Protais. Alas, poor I'm.
tais! We lost him tl
weeks ago. A pneumonia
grafted itself on his heai 1
disease : he took to his bed.
where he remained eight
days, and died. His loss is
plj felt by everybody,
lor he was greatly helo\ nl
and. above all, esteemed
for his upright spirit and
character.
" It has deeply afflicted
me, more deeply than I can
express Apropos ol
Utters. 1 have had those
Arago gave you copied,
and will send them to you with the bust, the drawings, and the photographs.
I am working always unremittingly, lor my health, which keeps good,
permits me to do s,,. At this moment I am putting the finishing touches on
the figure ol Tanagra, and in two or three days I shall paint it. 1 rely much on
this proceeding to give life to the marble, provided that it succeeds! I have
commenced also to model some lions, in order to improve the two pictures which
you will remember. These sculptures will enable me to find picturesque and
true effects of light which 1 could not well obtain de chic, as the painterssay; 1
shall also sculpture a lion, life-size, to bring some pleasure into my life and
amuse myself a little. It will cost me a greal deal, but one caul pay too
dearly tor such pleasures! To-day they brought me the bust ol Lavoix, which
has been very well cist. I think I shall send the Tanagra to the coming
Salon
LIFE AND WORKS 01 // t\ CEOA GERdMB. 281
This bronze busl of the Director of the Departmenl of Medals in the Biblio
thdque Nationale, is one of Ins best portraits, the universal verdicl being, "Jlfais,
c'est absolument lui. "
The coloring oi the Tanagra had long been planned by the sculptor. The
block of marble had been carefully chosen with a \ it u to this operation, and he
had made frequent experiments on fragments ol the same texture. The figure
seemed perfect as u was. and we sometimes
regretted thai the master should think ol
incurring so great a risk. "II it does not
succeed?" we ventured to saj one day. "I (~
will make another !" was the smiling ivplv
The incessant labor of two years was but a
bagatelle before this indomitable will.
Later in February, he writes, " You
must certainly have received a letter from
me lately, announcing the death of m\ dea
friend Protais. This loss has been very hitter
to me. I regret it immeasurably. He was
a beautiful soul, an upright man. a faithful
friend. At a certain time in lite one sri"-
everything collapse around one; it is perhaps
the most painful accompaniment of "Id aj^e.
.... We must elevate and Strengthen our
souls and face the tempest with calmness and
courage."
Toward the end ol Mareh. 1890, the news-
papers all through two continents contained
the alarming dispatch from London: "The celebrated painter G6r6me lies
dangi rously ill in this city." The overtaxed physique had again given way, and
once more this precious life was in danger. Private letters from London at last
chronicled his improvement and departure with liis friend, the Due d'Aumal
the Island of Sicily, where he had a very serious relapse. The -'<>tli ol May. he
W! LteS from Paris :
" I hasten to reassure you again as to ntv health, which has almost regained
its usual state. I"he influenza which made me so ill about two months ago hav-
ing relaxed its hold somewhat, I started foi Sicily, where I look eold and again
fell ill fever, acute pains in the head, heavy eold. and, as I could take no kind of
tool extreme feebleness. As soon as I was able to travel, I lost no time in
embarking for home, where I have really taken good can ol myself. Hut this
diable </<' maladie is verv persistent in its effects, and I have been shaken to the
- s -' ///■/■ \ND II DA' AW ,)/■ //./.\ in<\ ,,!/;,> Ml
very foundation ' I am still feeble, bul I trusl thai matters will, little by little,
mend themselves, as before. I work without fatiguing myseli too much, and
tranquilly await my complete restoration. I have finished the Lion in sculpture,
life-size; it wenl to-day to be cast thai finished, il will be senl direct to the
foundry. I think ii is a good work ; we will see when it is placed before the
public. The statue ol Tanagra, on exhibition at this moment, is a greal success.
greater than I dared to hope! I am well content. E1 has been bought by the
state, to whom I have sold il for much less than it cost me, but I wished this
work to remain in my country. Protais is buried in the cemetery <>t Montmartre.
We had a sale oi his pictures, studies, etc. , which remained in his atelier ; it did
not bring much. One of his pictures, the besl ami mosl important, has been
bought by the state Justice marches with slow pace, she often arrives
late, it she arrives at all ' Hut what is to be done? We must fight on. It is
much In have the right on one's side.''
From the columns oi the Boston Transcript, under date Paris, [uly 6, 1X90,
ami over the initials ol the lion \l. Parry Kennard, we take the following
charming description o1 the Tanagra, as n appeared in the garden oi the
Salon ;
An exceptional, but a leading ami yet undemonstrative attraction in that
spacious amphitheater oi sculptures in the I'al.us de I'Industrie was the famous
Tanagra, in marble, by the distinguished painter and sculptor tie nunc, and which
the French Government has acquired by purchase. This is a novel conceit, and
entirely unconventional, representing a nude female of a purely Cii'cck type, sitting
very upright upon what simulates a fragmentary mass of ruins partially exca-
vated, amid the d&bris of which are discerned tiles and bricks, etc. . while in the
Crumbling mortar, here and there, are partially exposed and imperfect Tanagra
figures, one oi which has been secured complete, and is held in the extended left
hand ot the statue. This marble beauty is not much above five feel in height,
and should be under v,lass. as really the jewel ol the statuary collection, for I find
it so esteemed. It was given a central position amid many larger and more
ambitious works, and thus was at some disadvantage, and perhaps it was ' cavian
10 the general,' yet one could not but be interested in observing the attention n
d in excess of any other exhibit, Gerdme seems the most industrious ami
untiring artist living, when we consider his main wonderful canvases, so largelj
distributed among the royal collections of Europe and in the United States, and
his remarkable creations in marble. I lingered an hour about this charming
work of art, which, in its chaste simplicity, is as .1 -ill ol the gods, and only could
conceived and executed by a great master, the versatility ol whose
genius and whose scholarship and accomplishments render him the Leonardo ol
his lime. I lad that historical performance of Michael Angelo been repeated, and
this figure been secretly buried for a lime, and then publicly excavated as an
antique, with perhaps a broken arm. it would have turned the heads oi the whole
ail world, and been declared in its vital characteristics and Subtle anatomx .1 rival
///■/■ \ND WORKS Of II \h ll'i<\ G&R 283
oi the Miln Venus. Time hereafter will, i am persuaded, find warrant for all the
praise thai is now accorded this exquisite creation. Increasing the novelty with
which this captivating marble has been invested, the author availed himself
of the authority of antiquity and delicately tinted it. with gratifying Buccess.
M. Cicrdmc has just modeled a colossal sitting lion, which is now in the hands
of the founder, to he cast in bronze intended lor the Salon oi next year."
Being congratulated again on the enthusiastic reception of the Tanagra, the
master replies :
"The success ol this work has surpassed all my hopes and Idled me with
joy. I regret that yon did not see it with the light coloring I have added lo it.
I believe thai this pleasing pa tine, whicb gives hie to the marble, has contributed
much to this favorable result. Excellent photographic reproductions have i» 1
in. id. , it tin- Exposition. There are four ol them, that is to say, from every side ;
the two profiles, the lace, and the bach ; We will choose the most interesting lor
the book. I believe it will be the profile where the pick stands and the figurines
emerge from the earth yon shall decide. I am obliged to change for others
the drawings of the camels we had chosen they were made on yellow paper,
which does not yield good proofs, and they have been returned to me as impos-
sible to reproduce. This detail is easily remedied. 1 will find others better
adapted. 1 have finished my portrait in a little picture which represents me
working on the marble | Tanagra], with my model beside the statue in the same
pose it t> said to be .1 success. It is not yet photographed, or 1 should send
you ' proof. Have also finished a lion, life-size, warming himself in the sun
title. Beatitude. It is just now at the founder's, and I trust to have the proof in
a month. 1 have also begun a picture with a very hackneyed subject Pyg-
malion tun/ Galatea; 1 have tried to rejuvenate it. The statue is coming to life
in the upper part, while the limbs are still imprisoned in the marble so that she
cannot change the position of her feet ; but as the upper portion of the body is
already living, she leans to embrace her sculptor, who returns the caress most
fen ently ' "
Alter repeated endeavors to escape furnishing the Preface to the present
volume, according to a promise obtained after urgenl entreats' some years
previous, Cierdme finally yielded, and 111 .1 letter dated July, 1890, which gives
new proof of his goodness and modesty, he says :
I will, then, write your introduction, although I am very unskillful with
the pen ; but 1 will try lo prove myself ecpial to yom desire, though, I repeat, it
is a very delicate matter lor me lo write the first page "I .1 book which treats of
me and my works, To digress a moment, I beg oi you, iet nothing be exag-
gerated; be moderate, and do not extol too highly my poor merits.
The following extracts are from letters written bv the master during the
dreary winter oi 1890 1891, when he was suddenl} called upon to bear the
284 UFL IND WONks <>/■ JEAN LEON GERdML.
greatest trial thai had yel assailed him. We give our readers a glimpse of this
profound grief, in the hope that it may inspire every heart to imitate the heroic
endurance which sought surcease of sorrow only in patient, unflagging, con-
scientious labor, and a more active expression til sympathy for his fellow-
sufferers.
Under the date ol November, 1890, he writes:
"You have imposed on me a 9evere task in asking me to write a Preface
to your hook . nothing is more difficult for me than to write. I do not know
how, and am forced to make Stupendous efforts which, moreover, are never
crowned with success! Mm at last ii is done, and I send ii herewith. I have
dour m\ best, but .mi sure 11 is eery bad Mere, too, are the verses dedicated
to me by ni\ friend Popelin, thai you wished to have.
" ' Nous sommes, mon vieux Gerome,
Di 1 solus combattants
Don! la male ardeui ne chome
Voila plus de quarante ans.
A\ ec tori une diverse
Nous a\ ons fail le dc\ oir,
X ill an chemin tie lra\ else
X'a pu nous apercev oil
" ' Dans le plein jour de la vie
Nous avons sans cesse t te
1 )roit, par la route sui\ ie,
En hiver, com me en etc.
" ' Vienne le son qui nous touche,
Veti rans. nous briilerons
Notre derniere cartouche,
Et, debouts, succomberons.
" ' Nous savons par competence
Toul ce que \ aul le tra\ ail ;
Sans lui. la courte existence
Serail 1111 epoin anl.nl
" ■ Aussi. nous menons nos ceuvres,
El ne nous arretons pas
Pour echapper au \ couleui res
( )ui pullulenl sous nos pas.
" l'oi. Ill lais parler la loile
\ dl lui tons les mots ;
Xe sous une inoindi > I loile
|e lixe au leu des cinaux.
LIFE AND WORKS OF I rw LEOA GEl 285
" • Mais suv ninn esquif on rade
Quelquefois j'ecris des \ ers,
Recois Ics. moil camarade,
Avec lcs deux bras ouverts.'
". . . . Life is only a succession oi sorrows anil sacrifices; one must resign
one's self, since tilings arc so ordered and eannol be otherwise on this globe /< r-
raqui, where oui sojourn is not in any wise desirable. May you be recompensed
tor your self-denial, A.s for me, I have foi a long time led a painful existence,
as you know ; hut the most cruel blow has been reserved for me. M\ only son,
built like Hercules, has fallen ill of consumption, and, I tear in truth I am
sure the future has mosl mournful changes in store tm me. My entire family
left this evening to pass the winter with him in a mildei climate, at Cannes, and
1 shall remain here all alone for si\ months. In addition, my father-in-law,
already ven aged, is nearing his end. and from this quarter a catastrophe is
imminent ; you see that all this is not very cheerful. Further still. I myself am
far from well, hut I keep up good courage and plunge up to my neck in work ;
this in absolutely necessary tor me. tor I am miserable, unhappy, desolate, in a
deserted house I painted this summer several pictures, which are not
quite finished al oj Cairo, Venus Rising (the start, and the Pygmalion mul
Galatea This latter. I think, shows good invention, and I shall shortly put the
last touches on it. For tin- moment, I have abandoned myself entirely to sculp-
ture, and am making a figure oi Bellona uttering her war-cry ; this statue is life-
size and will lie made in various materials ; the nude parts in ivory, the draperies
and armor in gilded or silvered bronze, the whole tinted in different colors. It
is a considerable work and probably the last oi similar importance that I shall
create. 1 have strong hope that I shall succeed, but also have my doubts ; we
shall see ' "
As »v remembei the sketch of tin- Venus alluded to. the canvas showed a
stretch ot blue, Star-lit heavens, veiled here and there by Semi-transparent clouds
which drift across a beautiful lace and bust oi the Queen of Stars, whose rising
eclipses all lesser lights. Even in its unfinished state, this picture exhibited a
luminosity ot atmosphere that it would be hard to surpass.
Days and weeks of unremitting, almost frenzied labor now ensued, until the
master was summoned away to sustain by his comforting presence the poor
invalid who had alreadv entered the Valley of the Shadow ot Death In the
month ot January comes a letter, in which he struggles to tace. with unflinching
id- lull. 1 prospect of bereavement that lies before him and. with his
n^ual unselfishness, puts aside even this great griel to 1 nihil requests which are
regarded as veritable duties bv tins conscientious spirit, lie sus
" It is from Cannes that I write you.. always behindhand nowadays with my
letters; it is because, in this latter time, my life has been peculiarlj over-
burdened, and then I am a prey to the most acute mental suffering. 1 am
286 ///■/■ AND WORKS <>/■ II IJV I lo.x G&Rdifl
here, having left Paris and suspended all work, to stay by the bedside <>i my
son. who is extremely ill ; alas! unhappily, I must avow it, dying. You can well
understand, can you not, in what condition «>t mind 1 am, ami how profoundly
nn whole being is agitated, when I behold the frightful spectacle which pre-
.1 l thi death ol a young man ol twenty-five! . . . . 1 leave this mournful
subjei i i" reply to your questions. 1 have long since given orders to make the
plate ol the Tanagra from the profile winch besl renders the statue; it ii is
noi yet finished, it should be very soon, for I did justice, without delay, to your
most legitimate request, as soon as you expressed to me. m one o! your letters.
alreadj old, the desire you had on this subject. This point then, is entirely
cleared up have no more anxiet) about n Since you interest yourself
as much as ever in my work, I will make a little recapitulation ol that which
I have jusl finished or which is under way.
•• First, the large figure ol Bellona ; she is standing on tiptoe, with her arms
thrown hack ; naturally m one hand she holds a sword, in the oilier a shield;
at her feet, upon the pedestal which represents a hall ol the terrestrial globe
a map of the world cut in two -is coiled a serpent ; his head is raised and the
immense jaws are open. The figure is draped in a tunic and mantle raised by
the wind, which gives a certain movement to the ensemble. This sculpture
appears to have gained the approbation of those who have seen it; Inn. the
model once finished, I am not yet at an end ol the problems to lie solved, tor 1
wish to execute this statue in different materials, bronze gilded and tinted,
oxidized silver, niellos, etc, and the nudes in ivory; all this does not tail to
give me some anxiety, lor it is a difficult thing to find all the workmen to success-
fully carry out so complex a work, I shall, however, do my very besl, and have
decided to make all necessary sacrifices to obtain the desired result, I have
also lately finished a little figure in marble, half life-size, of a dancing-girl : it
is like the one Tanagra holds in her hand, only ihis is more seriously made, and
the nude portions, as well as the draperies, have been studied with care. 1 have
painted it, and I believe I have succeeded with the coloring; I was still work-
ing on it the day of my departure, but was able to finish it. It will be exposed
at the Cercle, as well as the portrait (bust) of General Cambric-Is. and the
picture representing me at work on the Tanagra, with my model at one side in
the same pose ; I think it is of an agreeable tone of color, but one does not
know exactly what to think of one's work until il has been placed before the
public, which praises or condemns. When an artist has accomplished all of
which he is capable, when he has tried to put both his soul and his heart into
his work, he should await this verdict with tranquillity. Also ias I have men-
tioned) I have finished a lion in sculpture, life-size, who is going to sleep while
warming himself in the sun (title. Beatitude). I shall reserve this for the
coming Exposition in the month of May. Among my pictures are a large '
the Pygmalion and Galatea (which I intend very shortly to put into marble),
and some lions three or four, in different situations pursuing antelope in the
i i watching for prey in a landscape ol and mountains (Salon iSoi) the
same one as the sculpture, lighted by the rising sun. and another tormented by
nil l.\/> WORKS OF JEAA I io\ G&ROML 287
a butterfly. This is about all that 1 have done lately ; but during the last four
months I have been greatly disturbed by this calamity which has so suddenlj
assailed me, and whose last blow 1 now await."
These mournful apprehensions were too soon to be realized. Before the
spring had come the journals ol Paris chronicled the death ol Gerome's onl)
son, and, on both sides of the Atlantic, sympathy for the master's irreparable
loss was universal and profound. Almosl crushed b) this cruel affliction he
instinctively turned to his art, seeking, as ever, comforl in his work, lim th<
blow had struck deep, and months after his letters showed that the wound had
not yet begun to heal.
"He is dead dead' ami only twenty-five You will comprehend
in what condition my spirit has been and still remains; work has sustained
me; it has not consoled me, but has helped me to endure this horrible mutila-
tion , . . Each one has his sorrows, ol diverse nature, and one is forced to
acknowledge that on this wretched sphere where we live, all are unhappy, .aid
those who leave it are not to he pitied! the\ enter into rest and peace
Hut you know all this, already, lor I wrote you all from Cannes, but it is dif-
ficult lor me not to recur to it
From his dear friend, the lion Mr Keiinard of Boston, win. visited tierome
just before the firsl premonitions of this short and fatal illness were felt, we have
the following sympathetic pen-portrait
"You kindly ask ol me a word as to the master. Heroine.
1 I deem it my good fortune that I can claim some personal acquaintance
with him. Few men whom 1 have met. in what maybe thought perhaps an
exceptional experience, so readily commanded my profound admiration, and so
easily won my affectionate esteem Unaffected, tree from the proverbial eccen-
tricities ol genius, quiet ami dignified in his ways, scholarly in Ins acquirements
and in his conversation, an accomplished cosmopolitan, his agreeable person-
ality cannot In- forgotten.
"Chaplain's profile medallion, reproduced b\ Wyatt Eaton, and given us in
tlu- February, 1889, number of /'//<■ Century Magazine, faithfully portrays that
thoughtful lace, serious without austerity, and indicative ol the brain that
has given us that remarkable pi. tin. ..I the Death oj A.i, in which is em-
balmed so much touching pathos, intensified history, sincere and unmatched.
"The atmosphere ami properties ot his most inviting atelier strikingl}
illustrate the refined Student and perfect artist. Ills tastes and his treasures
manifested there would warm enthusiasm in the dullest veins. Apparently
indifferent to the world's applause, like Ins friend Barye, he has pursued
with an unusual and conscious industry his own somewhat sequestered paths,
and thus perhaps avoided a commonplace celebrity, while n has not detracted
from his lame or his honors.
288 /.//•/. AND WORKS Ol IF. A A I lay G&R6MI
"The .hi life oi Paris for the last generation could not afford to lose the
influence and the exemplar) individuality of Jean L6on G6r6me.
" TIh i,\ en ni affection oi famous pupils attests this. Not always during the
life of an artisl can be anticipated the award oi history; it is not, however, too
much to predict thai the creations of this gifted master musl enroll his name
nol only among the distinguished oi his own day, bul with the illustrious foi all
tune. Ills sculptures, notably his Anacreon group, his Omphale,his Gladiators,
attest the consummate anatomist and his marvelous versatility, while the)
exhibit all the distinction and delicacy of touch that characterize his canvases.
"His statue oi Tanagra, an irresistibly charming marble, is another
and more recent illustration oi this manner, veritably rivaling the antiques.
Il seems lo he given to but lew men to love and to pursue then work as dot s
iiHii'iir, and this enthusiasm lends generous inspiration to his fertile brain
and dexterous hand May the day he far oil when t ha I hand shall he still,
or the well whence that inspiration is so copiously drawn shall be dry!'!
We can hni echo this prayei from oui inmost heart as we close the record
oi this fruitful life, leaving ihis veteran oi sixty-seven working with unabated
energy and ever-increasing skill, as the matchless groups ol BellonaaaA Pygma-
lion and Galatea indisputabl) attest. His powers of creation seem inexhaustible,
and assuredly we can say oi G6r0me, as did Pliny ol Timanthes .
" /« </// the works of this artist there is untold wealth of suggestion, and
however lofty the pinnacle to which he Inis elevated his art, his spirit stuns
still higher.
HI MS ,
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